A Hope Beyond
by annewed
Summary: Post-Hogwarts, mostly epilogue Ron and Hermione have a secret they've hidden from the Weasley family, a secret causing untold pain But George may have a solution to their problem... RW/HG, GW
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I am not the original creator of these characters or universe and use them for personal entertainment only. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is made from the publication of my work.

-o0o-

_Part One_

"_In reality, hope is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs man's torments."_

_~Friedrich Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human, 1878_

-o0o-

Hermione sat, a smile frozen on her face, trying to force words of congratulations out. Perhaps she was better at it than she expected, because Ginny and Harry simply beamed at her, while eight month old James shrieked with delight at the toy giraffe she and Ron had brought with them. Or maybe they were just too happy to notice her coldness, because Ron looked at her with those piercing blue eyes and she knew he could see right through her.

How she floated through the remainder of that evening, she couldn't have said. Ginny, glowing with maternal radiance, seemed unable to contain her joy and rambled on at length about doing up a second nursery and how she just had a feeling it would be another boy, and she'd been right about James, hadn't she? And of course, it would be tiring, but think how nice to have two so close in age. Throughout her chatter, Hermione was quiet, biting hard on her lip to try and keep the tears in check, the howl contained in her chest. Ron was watching though, all evening she felt his eyes on her. Harry returned from putting James to bed and said in a warm, teasing voice, "So, Hermione, you feeling settled enough in MLE to start thinking about a family yet?"

In a moment, before she could response, Ron yawned loudly and said, "Oi, Mione, you've got to work early don't you? I'm nearly knackered after that department meeting today, we should probably head home."

"Yes, probably, though why that meeting tired you out, I couldn't say, since I could see from the front of the room that you and Harry were just passing notes," Hermione said, a little acid in her tone.

Harry looked a bit guilty, but was used to their constant bickering, and simply smiled at his best friends. Hugs were exchanged, congratulations uttered once again and then, finally, mercifully, Ron and Hermione were flooing home.

The second they arrived, Hermione began striding briskly around the house, picking up the random odds and ends Ron left laying about. Though the cosy cottage was essentially spotless, Hermione went ahead and cast cleaning charms, and it wasn't long before a cloth was dusting and a broom was sweeping. Ron didn't say anything as she directed this odd parade, simply sighed and went to change his clothes. He'd been gone for five minutes before Hermione broke down and started crying, letting the broom clatter to the floor, as she sank into the corner of the sofa and wept bitter tears.

Ron reappeared and settled beside her, tugging her into his embrace, rocking her as she cried. When the worst of the bout had been reduced from sobs to sniffles, he gently and soothingly ran his hand over her hair and said in a low voice, "You can't be upset with them when they don't know, love."

"I know that. I'm not upset with them, Ron," she said in a subdued voice.

"You seem upset," he said mildly.

"I'm not angry at them. We always knew Harry wanted a good sized family, it's no shock that Ginny is so fertile, is it?" she said in a sharp voice.

"Hermione, I know it's hard, but it'll happen for us when the time is right," he said, a bit helplessly.

"You said that a year ago, Ron. It's been a year since we lost the last one, and over three years since we started trying," she reminded him, her voice choking slightly. "I'm tired of waiting, I'm tired of trying, I'm tired of the whole bloody mess!"

"Then maybe we should stop," he said slowly. "It's not making you happy, is it? Maybe we should take a break."

Hermione pushed away from him. "And what good will a break do? We tried that. We tried a holiday, we've tried relaxing, we've tried timing sex, we've tried every sexual position known to muggles and wizards, we've tried fertility potions and teas and charms and nothing has bloody worked, has it? Fourteen weeks, that's the longest I've lasted. We haven't even made it more than three days beyond the potion turning purple in a year."

Tears filled her eyes again, and Ron felt angry and helpless, as he had every time she'd cried. Crying was one thing he never handled well, because seeing Hermione so emotional felt all wrong, and out of place, and in the last three years, he'd seen more than enough tears. At first the whole thing had been fun, their little secret, lots of hopeful looks and whispering about the things Hermione may or may not be able to do soon. There were lazy weekend afternoons filled with window shopping in Diagon Alley, longing glances at infants and toddlers, and bloody good sex. It didn't surprise him when Hermione began reading books about conception, both magical and muggle, once they'd tried for four or five months with not even a late period. Her singular approach to the task secretly amused him, though the scheduled sex grew a bit grating, and the strange potions and food combinations she insisted he eat "to raise his sperm count" or "improve mobility" weren't exactly pleasant.

But he loved his wife, and held a secret picture in his mind of Hermione snuggling a curly, red head against her chest as she read 'Babbity Rabbity' to him, and so he went along with her charts and schemes and no one could have been more pleased or proud the day she brought him a glass phial filled with purple potion and a shocked look on her face. He picked her up, making her squeal and whirled her around, calling her 'mum.' Ron had wanted to floo to the Burrow right away, and tell anyone who was in sight, but Hermione had been ever practical, and said it would be better to wait – at least until she'd seen the healer.

They had gone four and a half weeks later, hand in hand, nervous smiles in place, anxious to get their first glimpse of their child. Hermione chattered nervously to the healer, answering all her questions about dates and symptoms and then came the moment. She was laid back, and the lights were dimmed, and the healer said in a smiling voice, "So, are we ready to meet your baby then, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?"

A spell was muttered and suddenly there was a light over Hermione's abdomen, like a projection. Ron couldn't really make anything out, as he had no idea what he was looking at; he vaguely remembered Bill saying that early on, they looked like blobs. But it didn't take more than a moment for him to realize something wasn't right.

Hermione was gripping his hand painfully hard, and he knew her too well to miss the fear lacing her words, "Is everything all right? Shouldn't there be some sort of movement?"

The healer seemed to study the picture for a moment before clearing her throat and cancelling the spell. She did not answer Hermione's question until the lights were back on and Hermione was sitting up again, now looking dreadfully pale. Even Ron, thick as he could sometimes be, knew this wasn't good. "Mrs. Weasley, I'm terribly sorry, but there was no heartbeat. Based on your conception date, you should be at just over eight weeks, but the baby only measured seven. I'm afraid you've miscarried. I can give you a potion that should dissolve everything with minimal discomfort. It should be just like a heavy period. You'll be able to try again after a normal cycle."

Ron would never forget the tight feeling in his chest at that moment, the first time he had been over-swept by powerlessness and anger as he watched his wife cry over their baby. It had happened twice more since then, once when Hermione had been in severe pain and they'd discovered the baby growing in the wrong place. That one had hurt him more because of how near a thing it had been to losing her. But he knew how much Hermione still grieved over that pregnancy that had lasted longest. That time, they'd seen the baby's heart beating in the projection over her stomach, and had watched it grow until she woke him in the middle of the night, blood dripping down her legs. He had never told her that the baby's heart had still been beating when they checked, because moments later it was all over.

That had been a year ago, and they'd watched James and little Molly appear. With every birth, Hermione seemed to grow just a bit more brittle, a bit more withdrawn. Whenever Molly had raised the subject of grandchildren hopefully, Hermione had deflected her by talking about her career, about her work on the side for the better treatment of magical creatures, or inquired about a recipe Ron loved. When Fleur hinted that Hermione wasn't getting younger, Hermione asked her opinion of the cut of new dress robes she was considering or whether she thought that a new rug would look better in their lounge. Penelope knew of course, as she'd been one of the healers to treat Hermione, and test Ron, but she was bound by confidentiality, and more often than not was too distracted by little Molly to step to Hermione's aid when talk turned in that direction. Ron could see how it tired her out, this constant cheerfulness hiding a pain that ate at her.

He knew she cried at night, when she thought he was asleep. Ron watched as she drew further and further into herself, and noticed how she was losing weight. For as immaculate a housekeeper as Hermione was, he knew she hadn't touched the third bedroom in months, the one that was supposed to be a nursery. When they'd moved from the flat to the cottage, they'd only just started trying, so instead of the study they'd thought about, they'd agreed to leave it empty for a baby. A few items for their anticipated child had accumulated there; some odds and ends that one or the other had picked up during their more optimistic phase, a few darling baby clothes they cooed over, a stuffed yellow hippopotamus Ron had brought home after that first purple potion. All the visible pieces of their hopes, shut away behind a door that Hermione refused any more to open.

That sense of hopelessness had been pressing down more and more recently, and as his wife wept in his arms, Ron felt himself growing more angry. At what, precisely, he couldn't say, but her tears seemed to be feeding the resentment he felt at their helplessness, his anger at being unable to give Hermione what she wanted. He could feel it smouldering inside him, and not for the first time, he wished Hermione would let him tell their families a bit about what they'd gone through, if only to avoid the pain of nights like tonight. But she saw it as failure, and never had been able to bear anything less than perfection well.

"Look, Hermione," Ron said gently, "I know you're tired. Of everything. I am too. I hate this, all of it. But we don't have a lot of options. I know you don't think the healers can help, but maybe we should give them a go again. Or maybe your muggle specialists will have something worth trying."

Hermione pushed away from him, and glared as she swiped at her eyes and spoke in a voice that was both clipped and despairing. "What good will it do? They ran all those tests after the last one, and couldn't find anything. I can brew the fertility potions as well as they can, they aren't exactly difficult. If the potions aren't working, what precisely do you think a healer will be able to do? And you know as well as I do that magical means of aiding conception are superior to Muggle."

Ron sighed. "I dunno, love. I just think that you're right. It's been a year. Maybe something's changed. Outside of a healer, the options are pretty limited. And at this point, I just want to be done for awhile. You're not happy, I'm not happy. Let's just stop."

Hermione looked pale and a little stunned, as if he'd just slapped her. "What do you mean stop?"

Ron leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, not quite meeting her eye. "I mean what I've said a few times now. Let's quit. Not forever. Just for awhile. Be done with the pressure of it. I'm as tired of the bloody potions and bloody charts and the bloody disappointment every bloody month as you are."

"I can't just stop, Ron," she said tightly. "Don't you understand? I can't just quit."

"I'm not saying forever, Hermione! Just . . . we need a break. I need a break from this. You do as well. It's eating you up, Hermione. Can't you see that? And no one else knows. Not even Harry. I watched you. I saw you flinch over and over tonight, I saw how much it hurt you to listen to them going on and on. Harry would be so upset if he knew how much he'd hurt you tonight, you know that."

"Which is precisely why we can't tell them," she hissed. "Because what are they to do, Ron? Stop living their own lives? Not talk about their children? Pretend nothing is happening when Ginny's the size of a hippogriff? You think there is pressure now? Just wait until your family starts their interference."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, his eyes narrowing.

"As if you didn't know. You lot live in each others pockets, there are practically no secrets from anyone. It's bad enough they all think I'm an uppity feminist who puts her career ahead of her family. Oh, don't act as if you don't know the way your mother and Fleur cluck about my work and shake their heads over how I deny you the chance to be a father when you clearly like children so much. Even Harry gets in on it now too." Hermione's voice was rising to higher and higher levels, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes her glittering with anger.

"You're being unfair, Hermione. That's not how it is at all, they wouldn't say things like that if they knew what was going on. Having a career just wasn't important to them, so they don't understand, and you don't help by hiding behind it every time the subject comes up," Ron said in clipped tones, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That's not the point!" Hermione screeched. "The point, Ronald, is that if they say that sort of thing now, then what are they going to say when they know what damaged goods I am? When they know how I'm incapable of even basic biological functions?" Hermione's face crumpled and the anger in the room deflated, and once again, she was crying.

Ron sighed. "Oh, love, you aren't damaged. None of this is in your control or is your fault." He opened his arms and she buried herself in his chest and cried softly. Ron stroked her wild, curly hair, until the muffled sobs turned to sniffles and then to deep breathing. Forgoing use of his wand, he simply picked up his exhausted wife and carried her up the stairs to their bedroom. He gently tugged off her skirt and blouse and tucked her into their bed, lingering over a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent that was uniquely Hermione.

Restlessly, he moved back downstairs. He felt unsettled by the glimpse he'd seen of Hermione's true feelings about this subject, about herself. Giving up the idea of sleeping, knowing he was far too awake and troubled for it, he cast about for something to do, wishing he could confide in someone, but sighing at the late hour. Most of his family were sound asleep by this point, their children long since having worn them out. Maybe his dad would be willing to listen, but he was less hearty than he used to be, and Ron hated to wake him. There was, however, one person who was as unencumbered by children as Ron was, though, come to think of it. And he was likely awake, though how coherent he might be at this point was potentially debatable. All the better for his own need to discuss something Hermione had placed off-limits to his family. George probably wouldn't remember his visit through the haze of firewhiskey he'd likely consumed by this hour.

Mind made up, Ron acted before he gave himself a chance to talk himself out of it, and wrote a short note on a scrap of parchment and left it on the table, hoping Hermione would attribute it to another bad night for George. They were fewer and further between now, true, but Ron was always the person George called when things got too much for him to bear. The note left, Ron crept out of the house, securing the wards behind him, and apparated into the workshop of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' original location in Diagon Alley, where George still lived in the flat he'd shared with his twin brother.

The room was quiet, and as Ron climbed the stairs to the flat, he realized he couldn't hear anything stirring. George couldn't stand quiet, and usually had the wireless on in the background if he were awake. Ron began to feel foolish, but knocked at the flat door softly anyway, deciding that he'd give it ten or twenty seconds, since he'd come all the way out here, and then he'd go away. No point in rousing George if he were actually sleeping, or worse, not alone, as the case had been more and more frequently in the last couple of years. Fred would certainly have been proud of the parade of witches that trotted through his flat, but Ron worried about his brother's health and happiness. This was more brittle a life than either twin had ever really expressed interest in, for all their big talk when they were young.

Just as Ron was turning away to sneak quietly back to the apparition point, the door to the flat opened suddenly, and a sleepy looking George stood there blinking. "Oi, little brother, what're you doing here at this time of night? Hermione finally came to her senses and chucked you out, then?" He eased the sharp words with a half-smile.

"Of course not, I'd go sleep at Harry's if she tossed me over," Ron scoffed.

"True, and if she'd come to her senses and binned you, she'd be the one at my door, not you," George mused, looking thoughtful, and chuckling when Ron glared down at him. "Come in, then and I'll make tea." George moved away from the door and headed towards the small kitchen.

Ron followed, looking around him in some surprise. The flat was actually tidy, if not perfectly cleaned. That was new; the last time Ron had been over of a night, it had been the usual mess of dirty laundry, dust, empty firewhiskey bottles and a sink overflowing with used dishes. Instead, the only thing out of place was a book on the floor by the couch.

"It's looking nice in here, George. Didn't wake you, did I?" Ron asked, frowning a bit.

"Yeah, you did, but it's better, actually. I fell asleep reading on the couch and you've saved me a bad crick in my neck," George shrugged.

"So you're alone then?" Ron asked bluntly, knowing that subtlety had never been his strong point.

George leaned back against the counter and cocked his head at his younger brother, studying him for a moment. "Yeah, I am. Is that so unusual?"

"Has been a bit of late, innit?" Ron grunted, the tips of his ears turning red. "Not like you to clean up, either. Wondered if you were trying to impress a bird."

"I have been seeing someone," George admitted.

Ron's eyebrows rose. George hadn't seen the same girl more than twice in recent memory, to the point that their Mum had forbidden George from bringing dates to family events because of the difficulty of trying to keep them straight.

"Oh, come off it," George scoffed. "I've been doing a lot better lately. No one wants to say it like that, but it's true enough anyway. And Luna's done me good." He turned faintly pink as he said it, looking at Ron through the corner of his eyes, as if waiting for some sort of reaction.

Ron blinked. "Luna? Luna Lovegood?" he asked in surprise.

George nodded and began fiddling with the tea strainer near at hand. "Yeah. Bumped into her at the Leaky on a bad night. Was going to floo you, but she helped me home and put me to bed. She stayed on the couch until I woke up next day. While I was sleeping, she cleaned the flat and threw out all the firewhiskey and all the hangover potion." He chuckled at the memory. "I was furious and in pain, but she just smiled and said that the only way around it was to go through it, and said she'd be back in three days to see how I'd got on."

"I take it you'd got on pretty well then?" Ron asked.

"Once I got my hands on some hangover potion, anyway. I thought about it, what she'd said, and I realized I've been trying for years to numb or avoid the pain of losing Fred. I've been been trying to fill his place with just about anything to stop it from hurting. And nothing really had helped, and a lot of it made things worse," he mused, looking sad. "I decided it was time I maybe tried to get through it. Wasn't easy," George added, frowning. "Still isn't easy. But I think it's better now. Luna talks about him, you know. You lot don't much. I understand why, I know it's hard even to look at me sometimes, I can't stand mirrors myself. It's easier to talk to her, somehow."

There was silence as Ron digested this information, and George didn't quite meet his eyes, broken by the tea kettle beginning to whistle. George busied himself with making tea, finally bringing it to the lounge, and Ron finally sat down, looking at the cup in his hands and wondering now what to say. He hadn't been quite prepared for a lucid George.

"So, no more wireless at all hours, then?" Ron asked, before he could stop himself.

"No," George replied, simply. "Luna said that if I wanted to hear Fred, tuning him out was probably not going to help. And when I turned it off, d'you know, I could hear Fred pretty clearly inside my head, telling me what a git I've been these past few years. Can't say I disagree with him, really. You put up with a lot from me, Ron."

Ron waved away what sounded like the beginning of an apology he didn't want. "That's a lifelong thing, that is. 'S what brothers are for, innit," he said gruffly.

George's voice sounded amused when he spoke. "Yeah, all right, we'll skip the emotional baggage and move on to what precisely has brought you to my flat in the middle of the night if Hermione hasn't thrown you out."

Ron hesitated, fidgeting with the cup in his hands, idly feeling the warmth of the tea seeping through the ceramic. "Right, well, I need to talk to someone, I guess."

"Right," George said, eyebrows raising a shade.

"Only, well, Hermione doesn't want me talking about this," he said, more hesitantly, trying to remember exactly what he'd been thinking when he decided to come here.

"Ah, I see. So you want me to swear on Fred's grave or something that I'll never tell, is that it?" George said, relaxing a bit.

"I don't think that's completely necessary, George," Ron said. "It's just that it's sort of sensitive, like. And we had a row just tonight about telling anyone this, but if I don't talk to someone else, I think it's going to lead to more rows, and I'm not sure either of us can handle that right now."

George's eyebrows creased. "This is serious, isn't it?" Ron nodded. "Something wrong with Hermione? She's not been herself lately."

"We've been trying to have a family," Ron blurted out. He paused while noting George's surprised look. "We've tried for three years now. She's had three miscarriages, well, six if you count the last three where the potion turned purple and she started bleeding a few days later." Now he'd gotten started, now he'd admitted it to someone, the words tumbled out of him as if George had spiked the tea with Babbling Bubbly or veritaserum or something. He went on and on, telling George about how they'd learned about each miscarriage, how hard the last one had been, how badly Hermione took it all, how frustrated he felt, how much it hurt when Mum hinted about grandchildren and how that very evening had gone.

"And now it seems we row more and more, like tonight. Not like our bickering, I know we do that all the time. We've both said things that hurt each other, and that's not normal for us. I just don't know what to do. She won't take a break, she won't go back to the Healer and she's convinced, absolutely convinced she's broken and it's all her fault." Ron stopped suddenly, looking tired and worn out, as if he simply had no more to say.

George had been quiet throughout, listening intently, looking at turns shocked, then sad, and now grave. "I had no idea about any of this," he sighed.

"Don't feel bad, no one does. Not even Harry or Ginny, and they see us more than anyone," Ron replied absently. "I didn't know you'd gotten yourself sorted out or that you've been seeing Luna, did I?"

"Right, point taken. So is it about having a baby or is it about making this happen?" George finally asked.

"What d'you mean?" Ron questioned.

"Well, have you considered alternatives?" George queried, as if it were obvious. When Ron looked blank he went on. "Adoption? Surrogate mother? So on?"

"Oh. No, not really. The healers said it's just been bad luck, really, there isn't anything inherently wrong with Hermione."

"And you've been completely looked over?" George asked.

"Yeah, perfectly normal, according to Penelope. And that was a bit embarrassing, you know, because I had to provide a, er, specimen for them to examine."

George's eyes lit with mirth. "Is that why you came in and asked for the adult daydream charms?"

Ron blushed, but nodded, and George laughed at his little brother for a moment, before Ron grew serious again. "I don't care so much about having a baby. Plenty of Weasleys about aren't there? But it's still important to Hermione. I think it has to do with feeling inferior anyway."

George frowned. "What d'you mean, inferior? Hermione is the smartest, cleverest witch any of us know, probably in all of Britain."

"Yes, and she's a muggleborn. She's been battling prejudice her whole life, and I know she sometimes still feels inferior, even if she's loads better. And to continue to struggle to get pregnant only to lose the babies. . . that's something that most people do so easily without thought. And no matter how much she researches or studies or tries spells or potions, she can't make it happen." Ron sounded defeated.

"So she wants to be a mother, but she still wants to succeed at this more than she wants to be a mum?" George said.

"I think at this point that is still true. But I don't know for sure. We had a row the last time we talked about it, haven't brought it up again." Ron was slumping lower in his seat, looking utterly knackered.

"It's not something you can just easily decide overnight, I reckon," George said amicably enough. "Look, Ron, I'm about the last person in the wizarding world who can you give you good advice about this. Or anything, really."

"I think I really just needed someone to talk to," Ron said, shoulders slumped.

"Well, despite my lamentable lack of two ears, I remain pretty decent listener. Any time, Ron. There is one thing -" George mused.

"What's that?" Ron asked, through a wide yawn.

"Hmmm? Oh, nothing. May as well stretch out and sleep, y'know. You look too knackered to apparate back. It is rather late," George said with chuckle, standing up.

Ron gratefully unfolded himself on the couch, as George summoned a blanket, and cast a cushioning charm under his little brother's head. Ron was asleep before George laid down in his own bed.

-o0o-

_A/N: This is a more personal story than any I've written before. I started this piece in a feverish rush back in early August, seeking distraction as I neared the two year anniversary of my son's birth and death. We were then in our fourth year of trying to conceive, and had suffered through similar problems to Hermione here (though this should not be read as a repetition of my own obstetric history). We were approaching a point at which we felt we needed to take a long break, and the conversations surrounding that sort of decision are difficult and painful. _

_Unlike Hermione and Ron, we've been relatively open with our friends and families about our difficulties in achieving and sustaining a pregnancy, but it doesn't stop the pain of uninformed opinions intruding, urging one to simply adopt (as if that were an obvious, easy option, when it is as difficult and emotionally fraught as artificial reproductive technologies), or to take a break, or try this supplement or that sexual position; this leaves off the negative responses about your miscarriages or infant loss to prematurity – there are so many absolutely asinine statements that do nothing but wound you again and again. _

_In pain one day myself, I began to wonder what might have delayed Ron and Hermione's family building, and imagined a scenario in which things were not happily ever after, whether those around them knew it or not . . ._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Two quick notes, before we begin. One, the standard disclaimer - I do not own the characters, not for profit, no infringement on others' copyrights intended, etc. Two, there have been a number of questions about the potential nature of this story, given my teaser and a statement in my profile regarding my preferred pairings. I think it will be adequately addressed if you read the chapter, but if you are exceedingly concerned about the potential pairings, you may skip to the author's note at the end which addresses this directly before continuing with the chapter._

-o0o-

_Part Two_

"_If you knew that hope and despair were paths to the same destination, which would you choose?"_

_~Robert Brault _

-o0o-

Grudgingly, Hermione accepted that Ron had had a point when he urged her to see the healers again. It was possible that in the course of a year something had changed, though she didn't expect them to turn up anything new. Still, he was so eager for her to have some direction or something to try, that he continued to urge her to see their sister-in-law once again, and Hermione finally agreed simply to end the threat of another dispute on the subject.

A further consultation with Penelope resulted in repeating some of the previous tests, though the results had not changed. Penny was very sympathetic, but it was clear that Hermione's options were rather limited. She arranged for Hermione to meet with a colleague of hers, who was acclaimed the most knowledgeable about magical fertility concerns and treatments, but any hope Hermione had held for this esteemed healer to assist her were dashed quickly. According to the fertility expert, there was no reason that the standard series of charms or potions shouldn't eventually work. Hermione had inquired about the possibility of other procedures, even asking about Muggle forms of assisted reproduction. The healer had scoffed at their methods, calling them crude and barbaric, and condescendingly explained why the newest type of fertility potion was more likely to succeed than hatching embryos tiny serving dishes. Hermione felt her cheeks flame, and when he had left, Penny had tried to soothe her.

"I just don't understand why it's not worked," Hermione said in great frustration. "I've done everything you suggested, and nothing. Why can't the transference spell used for surrogates work for me?"

"Because it first requires the witch to become pregnant. Magical surrogacy is most efficient when becoming pregnant is not so challenging, but sustaining pregnancy is. Frankly, if you were getting pregnant with greater ease, it might be worth considering, but not something I'd advise another patient with your history. Unfortunately, the transference spell will only work to transfer an embryo, placenta, and amniotic sac when wholly formed and at a specific point of development. It simply doesn't work well with follicles or ovum though, so we can't transfer your eggs to a surrogate to begin pregnancy and then return it to you." Penelope watched her favourite sister-in-law pace furiously about the small consulting room, worrying over her fierceness and determination in this issue.

"But it works for Muggles!" Hermione cried, crossing her arms stubbornly.

"Yes, but only with very low success rates," Penny said gently, "and the Ministry has followed the International Confederation of Wizards on banning further experimentation in this area, deeming it too controversial, given the potential for a spark of life to be created. You know I don't agree with it, but neither can I do anything about it. It's not a treatment protocol I can recommend. If Ron had issues with his sperm, there might be more options, but he's hale and hearty, as you seem to be, Hermione."

Hermione ceased her pacing, and sagged into the chair she had initially occupied, frowning as she spoke, "What if I pursued a Muggle option on my own?"

"You can try, but you know how difficult it is to obtain medical treatment among the Muggles. You are in a better position than most to get the papers needed for the NHS, but it's hard to provide all the necessary information without potentially violating the Statute of Secrecy. And honestly, Hermione, it's not worth it. What they do to manipulate the hormones _is_ crude, even if Healer Pike is abrasive in his assessment of it. It can take months, even years in extreme cases, to restore a natural harmony after their strong medications. You couldn't continue magical treatments whilst undergoing Muggle treatments, and magical treatments are more refined. Not foolproof, as you know," Penelope squeezed Hermione's hand comfortingly. "I know it's difficult, but your best course of action at this time is to continue with the standard potions and charms if you really want a biologically connected child. Otherwise, I can help you pursue a surrogate. If you want to try carrying the pregnancy, I'll endorse it at least once, but you can also consider a full gestational surrogate. It's not inexpensive though, which is worth considering. You can also consider adoption, as you already know."

"This is what I have left?" Hermione responded bitterly. "Adoption, surrogacy, or continuing the same things that haven't worked in a year?" Penny merely confirmed her statement with a nod, and Hermione felt as if all hope were being drained out of her, leaving her even more hollow than before.

-o0o-

Hermione went dully about her routine, plodding through each day with listless half-attention. She supposed she was a bit depressed, though she chalked it up to the dreary weather in an effort to ignore it. It seemed she was at an impasse. Hermione had presented Penny's results and advice to Ron, and it had moved them no closer to any sort of resolution. They hadn't rowed about it exactly, but Ron again brought up a break from attempting to conceive or considering adoption or surrogacy, and Hermione had politely refused to consider these options seriously. There was a growing wedge between them, that neither of them spoke of, or acknowledged, but that they both unquestionably felt. Ron was quiet at home, solicitous of her, but more withdrawn than he'd been before. There was a mixture of affection, pain and exasperation in his eyes when he looked at her. Much as she wished for something to snap her out of it, Hermione felt stuck.

She couldn't explain it to Ron, and she wasn't sure he would understand if she could explain. There was a deep need in her to be pregnant, if she could possibly have their children. Ron didn't need that, had no deeply burning desire to biological ties. He'd always said that there were plenty of Weasleys about, and he loved children and wanted children with Hermione, but he didn't much care how they came. It was different for her. Hermione wasn't sure if it were her perfectionist streak or simply the lonely feeling that came with being the only child of two only children. There was a drive to create life with Ron, an unspoken wish to feel again that she was part of something greater than herself, something more ancient and natural than even the oldest magic she had traced in her times with the Department of Mysteries. It was something she could not yet turn her back on, at least not while the healers felt she was perfectly capable of achieving and sustaining a pregnancy with the right monitoring.

Hermione knew what the toll was, though. The strain on their marriage, the tension created by her insistence on silence was growing steadily the longer she held out. She wished it were as simple as Ron suggested, as just taking a break and being done with it for awhile. But there was so much he was unaware of, an intimate knowledge of her body that had grown over the last three years of trying to conceive. She might be able to do without the fertility teas and the potions which supposedly improved various aspects of fertility and the charms that identified the optimal time for conception, but she couldn't simply vanish the knowledge she'd accumulated. There was no way, short of tricky memory charms she wouldn't trust, to erase the intuitive connection she now had with her body, a connection that made it impossible for her not to tense up as ovulation approached. A connection that instinctively told her whether or not her breasts were sore at the right times, whether the twinge she felt was related to a potential pregnancy or not. She'd been right each time in the past two years, though Ron had no idea because she'd kept her observations to herself.

Harry seemed to have noticed that something was amiss, but Hermione shrugged him off, despite Ron's quiet pleas to let their best friend in on their secrets. She refused, there was another row, and Ron had slept in the guest room. Hermione had awoken that morning to find him already gone, a note saying succinctly that he'd been called away to the Ministry and not to expect him for dinner. To make everything even better, her period had started, as she'd known it would.

The dull cramping, the fatigue from a sleepless night, as well as the bags under her eyes and her desire to avoid seeing Ron until they had both cooled off more decided her. Hermione did something she'd done only very rarely; she owled into her department head and said she was ill, and would be staying at home. She wrapped herself up in a long jumper and floo'd to the Leaky Cauldron, deciding that if she were going to be at home, she needed more pain potion for her cramps and a new book to distract her.

It was early enough in Diagon Alley not to be crowded; many stores didn't open before ten o'clock anyhow, and Hermione was glad for the quiet. She strode slowly towards the apothecary, unfocused thoughts flitting through her mind, keeping her attention away from anything in the Alley; it made her jump when a hand touched her shoulder.

"Goodness, Hermione, bit jumpy are we?" George asked good-naturedly. "I called your name two or three times, but you were lost in your own little world." Hermione blinked, realizing she was further along than she realized, in front of her brother-in-law's gaudy store. He was standing, hands thrust into his pockets, beaming at her, in jeans and a t-shirt.

"Good morning, George. Sorry, just a bit distracted. Up early, aren't you?" she asked.

"Not these days, really. Look, aren't you normally hard at work by this point? What are you doing here?" he asked, his smile fading with a concerned look.

"Just a visit to the apothecary. Taking a sickie," she said, wrapping the jumper a bit more tightly around herself, hugging herself a bit.

"Well, I'll go with you then, and then you can come back for some tea. I've got to pick up a couple of things as it is," he said cheerfully.

"More hangover potion?" Hermione asked acerbically.

George suddenly looked more serious. "No, actually. Dunno how much Ron's told you, but I'm off that stuff now."

Hermione paused to look at him. George looked more alert and healthier than he had done in years, and the cheerfulness wasn't feigned. The haunted look in his eyes had lessened. Tears pricked at Hermione's eyes to see how well he appeared. Spontaneously, she kissed his cheek.

"You are looking well, Georgie. I'm glad," she said, simply.

"And you, Granger, are looking like hell. Come along, the faster you get whatever potion you need, the better." They walked a bit more briskly to their destination.

Inside the apothecary, they split up; Hermione going straight for the pre-made potions, George headed to the back for a large-scale ingredient order. She picked up two phials of Milladay's Monthly Mender and with a sigh and a furtive look at George, who seemed occupied, she also picked up a large bottle of the fertility potion recommended by the expert healer. Not that it had done much good yet, but she couldn't shake the impulse. She took her purchases to the counter and was relieved when they were wrapped before George rejoined her.

"All ready? Excellent. Have you eaten?" Hermione shook her head, on the verge of protesting that she should get back home, but George continued on. "Good, I'll do a fry up for both of us. I've been meaning to come see you anyway."

Hermione felt too distracted to ask why, merely following him back to his shop and then up the stairs to his flat, preparing for the stale smell that usually accosted her. She was rather shocked when she realized that the flat was clean and tidy. George's lips were twitching as he watched her reaction.

"I do go in for surprises, don't I?" he said complacently. "I see that Ron didn't really discuss his last visit here."

"No, not really," Hermione said vaguely, sitting down on the sofa and fumbling with her package, trying discreetly to remove one of the phials, and succeeding only in dumping the entire parcel to the floor.

"Ah," said George, his remaining ear going a bit red, as he handed the Monthly Mender phial back to her, with a look that showed clear sympathy. It was disconcerting to Hermione, who had just managed to shove the fertility potion out of sight. "No wonder you look so peaked. I'll have you some tea and some food in no time."

She nodded and drank the phial down, while he began clanking things round in the kitchen. Hermione thought indistinctly that she oughtn't to be here; not that she'd never spent time alone with George before. In fact, she'd been one of his early minders. Ron and Percy would work down in the shop and Hermione would study upstairs in the flat, ostensibly to keep an eye on George, who was deeply depressed. That time had formed the basis of a deeper understanding between them. George once bitterly asked if they thought he was going to kill himself and that's why he wasn't to be trusted alone, and Hermione had looked up from her book and simply said yes. It had startled George out of the torpor he was in enough to ask why she didn't watch him more closely then. She'd set aside her book and studied him before explaining that she knew he wouldn't. They began talking more after that, were on friendlier terms than they'd ever been, but Hermione had disapproved of his string of witches and refused to continue cleaning his flat for him, and with the other complications of her life, had dropped off of their direct relationship in the last year or so.

George gently eased a steaming cup into her hands, breaking her reverie. "You want to eat here or at the table?" he asked gently. Hermione stood, and followed him to the kitchen, and sat down. A plate filled with scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, bacon, beans and toast was placed before her and she began to eat automatically. George watched her, but didn't say much, tucking into his own food with the gusto normal for Weasley males. Most of the plate was cleared when Hermione pushed it aside.

"That was really nice, George, thanks. I should be going, though. I'm sure you have to open soon," she said, feeling a bit ashamed over her lack of gratitude.

"No, I have people to do that for me. There's actually something I wanted to talk to you about," George said, seriously. "You don't seem well, Hermione."

"Just women's troubles," she said in a light tone, her mouth twisting as she realized how utterly true that was. George raised an eyebrow at her, and she flushed a little. "And Ron and I had a row last night. Didn't sleep well."

"Right. Look. I've been sitting on this for a couple of weeks or so, debating this. Whether I should tell you or not. I'd have told Ron, but well, you're the one who is affected, and you'd never believe Ron found this himself . . ." his voice trailed off for a moment and Hermione gave him a confused look which seemed to recall him to himself. "I'll be right back." He padded out of the kitchen, down the hall to his study, which had previously been his bedroom, and returned with a very old, rather worn book that Hermione had never seen before, setting it gently before her.

"So, the last time Ron was here? It wasn't actually a bad night for me," George said. "He, ah, needed someone to talk to, I think. And I know you'll get angry, but I want you to listen to me first. Ron told me about the problems you lot are having."

Hermione went pale, then flushed, leaving her face a splotchy color that George recognized as dangerous, particularly when her eyes narrowed. He hastily continued. "Look, Hermione, I've not breathed a word to anyone else, and I won't. That's your lookout. But Ron's not as self-contained as you, and he needed to let some of it out. He loves you immensely and doesn't know how to show you that right now."

After a deep breath, Hermione nodded. "Fine. What is this book?"

"A very old potions and charms book Fred picked up for us just after we opened the shop. It's where we got the basic recipe for a number of our Wonder Witch products. Of course we tweaked and improved them all to produce more specific results, but that's not the point. Have a look."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and then opened the book before her. It dated to the fifteenth century, she noted, and was written in French, but a charm made it possible for her to understand easily. The opening indicated it was a book devoted to women's concerns. As she flipped through, she saw potions for just about everything: cosmetic charms, hair styling potions, sewing charms, charms for making jam and love potions, and then, ah; that was why George had handed it to her. Conception charms and an accompanying potion. With a sigh, and a grimace she tried to make into a smile, she pushed the book back towards George.

"I appreciate the offer, George, but I've already tried nearly everything St. Mungo's has to offer or recommend. It's sweet of you, though," she said, trying to sound as if she meant it, trying to push down the welling of resentment mingled with shame.

"Hermione, look at it again. This isn't your garden-variety conception charm or fertility potion. I doubt very much St. Mungo's has ever heard of this. It's copied down from old magics, it's a much more complicated process than a mere potion or a charm. It's more like ancient witchcraft, the real stuff. I've used two similar spells from that book apart from the Wonder Witch products, and I have good reason to believe this would work for you, if you wanted to do it."

George looked very seriously at Hermione, who was frowning. The old magics were nothing to toy with or mess about. They had fallen out of common use for a reason; often they trod the balance between light and dark magic, and generally required a more powerful witch or wizard to cast the spells or perform the rituals. Not to mention the time involved and the strange ingredients required for the necessary potions. Still, there was something compelling about George's single-mindedness, the intensity with which he urged her to look again.

Almost involuntarily, Hermione's eyes were drawn again to the book and this time, she read the ritual instructions thoroughly. Her frown deepened; the potion was not a standard fertility potion, but something much stronger. She recognized only a little more than half the ingredients, but understood potion properties well enough to catch a glimpse into how it might work. The spellwork and incantations required before the potion was consumed seemed straightforward enough, but Hermione could see how powerful and magically draining the spellcasting after the potion ingestion would be, and then close inspection made her realize the catch.

"I need a third party?" she said in a high-pitched voice that closely resembled a shriek.

"From what I can see, yes. Your partner can't be involved, except for taking his own fertility potion, because it would dilute the effectiveness of the magic, and especially so given how draining it is. You can help to brew the fertility potion. But the ritual's incantations have to be cast by someone else, or you won't be strong enough to complete the ritual, let alone have sex after beginning the incantations. And you'll note how important it is for sex to be, ah, especially fulfilling to seal the spell." George's ear was flaming red, but Hermione didn't notice.

"It's really dangerous, George. I'm not about to ask someone to put themselves through that for me. Besides, no one else knows, and I'm not about to share," she said ruefully. There was no way to miss the longing in her voice.

"Of course you won't ask, Hermione, but I'll do it anyway," George said with a snort, before continuing more quietly. "After all that you and Ron did for me, it's the very least I can do. I can also get you those ingredients. I already investigated. It's useful, the shop, because whenever I want something that is ridiculously difficult to find or only useful in strange concoctions, everyone assumes mad George Weasley's got another insane idea. And of course, three of the items needed for the potion are illegal to purchase in Britain, which would put you in rather a quandary, given your current position with the Ministry."

"Illegal?" she asked, before pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. "No, I don't want to know. This is insane, George. I appreciate your effort, really, I do. I'm glad that Ron was able to confide in you. But going to these lengths . . . I don't think Ron is interested."

"But you are," George said, with easy confidence. "I'll help you brew that potion. You can keep it here. It'll take three months to brew anyway, and you have to ingest it at the right phase of the moon for it to work effectively with the incantation. And while it may be illegal to purchase some of these ingredients here, it it's not illegal to own or transport them, so you needn't worry about turning me over to your MLE colleagues. You don't even need to tell Ron what you are doing right away."

"I can't keep that a secret, George! Besides, this indicates the castor has to repeat the second incantation in a continuous chant to direct the magic while the partners are, er, engaged with each other. Ron won't agree to that! I'm not sure I would agree to that!" Hermione sounded scandalized.

George shrugged, then stood up, casting a charm to make the dishes wash themselves. "Suit yourself, love. The offer will stand indefinitely. Are you feeling better now? You look less peaky."

Hermione nodded distractedly, but the distraction was different than before. She seemed more focused, more present than she had when she'd stumbled across George. "Yes, thanks for breakfast, George." She stood and wrapped her arms around George and kissed his cheek.

"You are very welcome, Hermione. Do you want to take the book with you?" he said, seeing her looking at it again. She nodded hesitantly, and with a flick of his wand, it was in her arms. "Just think it over."

One last half smile, and Hermione was gone in the crack of apparition.

-o0o-

It took two weeks for Hermione to break down and start thoroughly researching the ritual, debating with herself over the attempt. She concluded that George was probably right, it ought to work. But she was more keenly aware of the danger of it. This would only be something she could attempt once. The ingredients for the potion, the time it took, and the sheer amount of powerful magic involved were too costly and too dangerous to attempt more than once. Hermione wasn't sure it was even _entirely_ legal to attempt this at all, but knew all too well that no one would be able to stop them unless they stumbled on them in action, which wouldn't happen.

Still, the dilemma that had arisen the moment George had explained the book to her remained. Hermione honestly did not believe Ron would be interested in such an extreme attempt. Things between them were better than the day she'd gone into Diagon Alley, but there was a coolness now, a barrier that she couldn't quite identify and didn't know how to get round. She wondered how he would react to her bringing it up, and never pictured anything good. She skimmed her fingers over the words in the book, letting out a small sigh, only to jump guiltily when Ron called to her from the doorway.

"What're you reading now? Another history of the goblin wars?" he asked, teasingly.

"Oh, nothing important," she said, her cheeks colouring. "Just something George asked me to look over for him, see if I thought the spell was sound." The book was firmly shut before she met her husband's eyes.

"Right. Well, you ready to go see this film then?" There was a tiny frown on Ron's face, but Hermione did not notice.

"I suppose," Hermione said reluctantly. "Let me just go retrieve a warmer jumper, yeah? The cinemas are always chilly." She squeezed his hand as she passed by him, and he smiled, but as soon as she was in their room, his wand was out.

Muttering a charm under his breath, the book flew open soundlessly to the place it had been at previously, and with another charm, Ron was reading about a conception spell. He was not as good as Hermione at cataloguing spells for later recollection, nor anywhere near as knowledgeable about arcane practices, but he was a fully trained (and rather good) Auror. He knew about dark and questionable spells and he saw enough to know this was treading close to the line. Ron frowned, puzzling at the possible meanings, even as he gently closed the book again and pasted a smile on his face. Hermione had been closed off for the past few weeks, even to him, distracted, fidgety even. Now he knew why.

Ron was thoughtful that evening, and over the next day or two, as he covertly studied both his wife and the charm. Closer examination revealed the charm to be of the sort of old forms of magic, what people at the time might have called sorcery and condemned with a good witch burning if caught. Dangerous probably, but not quite dark. It was something Hermione had clearly stumbled onto and was considering, but she'd not said a word to him about it. In general, she'd not said much in relation to conceiving lately at all, come to think of it. He debated going to George to see if he knew anything about this, but in the end decided that perhaps the better option was actually talking to his wife to see what exactly she was thinking. It was another three days before a good opportunity arose, but when they sat down to a nice dinner alone, he pounced on his chance.

"Look, Hermione, I know what you were looking at in that book in your study. The one you said George gave you." Her cheeks flushed, but her eyes narrowed dangerously. Ron hurried on before she could say anything. "You've not been yourself, and I was concerned because you were acting secretively. I know I should talk to you about that and not sneak about investigating you, and now let's please avoid that row because I know I was wrong and I'm asking you about it now, and just tell me whether or not you are actually considering it."

Hermione opened her mouth, then paused. Deliberately, she set her fork down to give herself a bit more time before finally saying, "I honestly don't know, Ron."

"How did you find that book to begin with?" he asked, trying hard to avoid slipping into his Auror interrogation mode, because not only did he often play the heavy in tandem with Harry's more sympathetic style, but it annoyed Hermione to no end to be interrogated.

"I told you, George gave it to me and asked me to look it over. I don't lie to you, Ronald," she said, her voice turning cool and crisp.

"All right, I believe you, I'm just not sure why George would give you something like that," he said, sounding puzzled.

Hermione arched one eyebrow at him and said frostily, "Oh? You don't remember spilling all our problems out to him one late night after Harry and Ginny announced her pregnancy?"

"Oh, right. I'm sorry about that, Hermione, I really am. But I had to talk to someone, and George swore he wouldn't tell." Ron was frowning down at his rapidly cooling meal, beginning to wish he'd not brought it up after all. Still, he was concerned, about Hermione, her depression, her pulling away from him, and the issue that seemed to hover over every conversation between them like some sort of dementor. He was worried and tired of worrying and at this point, would rather have a row if it would just bring everything out into the open, instead of this tiptoeing round potentially explosive issues.

Hermione surprised him by sighing. "That's fine, Ron. It was probably unfair of me to ask that you keep everything completely between us. I just wish you'd told me that he was aware."

Ron had his own question now. "And how did you find out that he knew? How'd you come to have that book from him?"

"After that last big row, when I owled in sick to work? My period started and the cramping was bad, but we were out of potion, so I owled in and then went to Diagon Alley to visit the apothecary, and I ran right into George. He walked with me and then invited me up for breakfast, told me I looked peaky. He's rather like your mum, you know, feeding a problem. When he saw the potion I'd bought, he told me that you'd told him. Then he fetched that book, said it could help. That if I was interested he would help me do it."

"What?" Ron exclaimed, face immediately looking like a gathering storm.

Hermione rolled her eyes at this predictable response, so like their school days. "Honestly, Ronald, did you read through the entire spell closely? It requires a third party to cast the spell after the couple has taken the fertility potion. If either of the primary couple were to attempt the spell, it couldn't be completed because the effort required is so magically draining, and therefore physically exhausting, that they wouldn't be capable of having the required sex!"

"Oh," came the mollified response.

"Additionally," Hermione continued, in the lecturing tones that were so familiar and yet irritating after all these years, "that potion is trickier than any I've seen before, including polyjuice, but I think George and I combined could manage it. He offered his workshop for brewing it, and even offered to procure the ingredients because they are hard to come by, difficult to explain, and apparently some of them are illegal to purchase here, though not in France."

There was quiet following that statement. Hermione picked at her food with no appetite and Ron mechanically returned to feeding himself without tasting his dinner as he thought through this information. Abruptly, he dropped his fork and repeated his earlier question. "Are you actually considering this?"

"I don't know. Yes. And then no. I want to have a baby, Ron. And even though it doesn't make sense to you, or possibly anyone else, I want it to be my baby that I've carried to term."

"I don't understand entirely why it matters so much to you, Hermione. We have other options," Ron said in a pained voice.

"I know that, but I can't change how I feel about it, not while there is still hope for it to work. If there were no chance, then I'd agree, but I can't. I know how illogical it is, how selfish. I know there are children who need good homes, I know there shouldn't be any difference, but there is to me." Tears were gathering in her eyes as she spoke, as she admitted how badly she wanted a pregnancy.

Ron reached across the table to grasp her hand in his. "It's not selfish to want that, Hermione. Or if it is, it's a selfishness everyone who has kids the old-fashioned way is equally guilty of. But you've got explain it to me. Why do you think this has a better chance of working than the things the healers have recommended or you've already tried?"

Hermione blinked her eyes free of wetness, and said in a less wobbly voice, "I've looked it over, and it's sound in magical theory. It's dangerous, like any of the old grey magics. Not the sort of thing one could try multiple times, and it's very precise. But if done correctly, and with both George and I to oversee it, it would be correct, there is no reason it shouldn't work. Besides, that book provided the basis for the Wonder Witch line, and George said he'd tried two other spells that worked. He believes it will work, and I tend to believe him. Few wizards outside the Department of Mysteries know how to predict outcomes of experimental magical theory like George does."

"Rather a change from old days, that, innit?" Ron asked, half-teasing, half-sceptical.

She shrugged. "I gave them plenty of stick for skiving off in school, I know, but Fred and George were much more brilliant and creative than I gave them credit for. What they did in the shop and what George has continued to do is completely remarkable magic. He has an intuitive understanding of how things work together, and I trust him."

"All right. So then why the hesitation?"

"Because I didn't think you would consider it. I know you don't care so much about biological children, and this is a pretty extreme thing to try. If it did go wrong or didn't work, I think we'd be out of options. There is a chance that if the spell were to be interrupted that we could be left sterile."

Ron let loose a small chuckle. "After everything we faced with Harry, sterility is not so bad. After all, there are plenty of Weasleys about. That doesn't bother me. I dunno if I'm completely comfortable with this. You'll have to explain it to me more, I guess. But if you are serious about it, of course I'll consider it. You're my wife, Hermione. I only want you to be happy."

"Ron, I -" she began, but whatever words she was going to say were cut off by Ron's kiss, and she melted into him just as she had the first time he'd kissed her.

-o0o-

_A/N: The lengths to which individuals will go in any enterprise are rarely pre-determined. When mixed with something as primally driven and as deeply emotional as creating a family, particularly after losses, there is no clear answer. I'm sure there are some who feel that this may be out of character for Ron or Hermione, or even George, but not as I see it. The problem with subjects like infertility and pregnancy loss is that it is utterly impossible to predict at the outset (or from outside the situation) precisely how you will respond once in the thick of it. There are deeply-seated drives that are hidden, even from ourselves, that can't be accurately predicted, longings that no amount of logic can erase, and that thing central to this fiction which is so unutterably tricky and potentially devastating - hope.  
><em>

_Several people asked me if this would be one of those sort of stories where George offers to help Hermione out in a more, uhm, _carnal_ way and thus begins a torrid love affair. While entertaining in its possibilities, that is not the scope of this mostly canon-compliant piece, as I hope is now evident. It is true what I've stated in my profile - I don't normally ship Ron/Hermione. I think they are better off as friends, and I think that in the normal course of events (ie, absent that hideous epilogue of an ending), they would have ended up realizing that themselves. Too much idealization and too many expectations and too much familiarity for it to work out well, in my opinion. I generally prefer matching Hermione with a twin, as my other pieces indicate. Not only because I adore the twins and find more room to play, but because it feels like a more balanced and mature match to me, personally. That said, as I indicated when initially posting, this is strictly a Ron/Hermione piece, and mostly canon-compliant (I've paired George with Luna here, and Percy with Penelope, which are the only real deviations from epilogue that I am aware of). I do understand how my profile and other fictions in conjunction with the teaser for this piece may have created the concern, but rest assured that this is not that sort of fiction._

_I so greatly appreciate the response (mostly from Ron/Hermione fans, who are obviously not my usual fanbase!), and hope the remainder meets expectations. I do not intend this to be a particularly long story, as some of my others are - three to five chapters per my current outline. I do not post on a regular schedule, but as opportunity allows. Life is too unpredictable at this time to promise anything, but as I anticipate this being a short piece, with much already written, I think it will be posted in a reasonable timeframe. Cheers, all.  
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	3. Chapter 3

__A/N - As always, the characters, universe, backstory, and so on used in this piece are not my property and I get nothing from this but the pleasure of writing. Additionally, please note that the rating for this story is 'M' - it has already dealt with adult themes and there are more adult experiences contained in this chapter which make it inappropriate for readers under the legal age of consent in their respective areas (though this is less explicit than other of my pieces, for the record).__

-o0o-

_Part Three_

_When the world says, "Give up,"  
>Hope whispers, "Try it one more time."<br>~Author Unknown _

-o0o-

Ron settled into the booth, the warmed mead a welcome change from the bitter chill in which he'd spent the day. Why did the bloody dark arts practitioners always travel to the Northern countries? Finland was very nice and all, but it shouldn't be so damned cold in September, he reckoned. Least he wasn't late, or rather, as late as George was running. He had a few moments to transition from work, which had been a tedious, frustrating day yielding few tangible leads, to gather his thoughts and questions about Hermione's little ritual. There were a few questions he had, and Hermione had answered those she could only vaguely, encouraging him to research it for himself. Well, Ron was not a stupid wizard, but research had never been his strongest talent and he didn't know enough to be able to sort out even where to start, once he'd worked out that this was far too old and far too out of the common way for even Penny to help him. So he'd owled George and asked if he fancied a drink, and here he was, waiting on his brother to appear.

And appear George did, a short time later, still wearing his garish work robes, looking tired and a bit worse for the wear. He settled into the private booth at the back of the Hog's Head, calling vaguely to Aberforth for a pint of lager and turned to his younger brother with a cheerful nod.

"Sorry mate. Bit of a rough day. Verity's out on her honeymoon, and Tessa owled in sick with dragon pox of all things, and some daring young chap thought he could get away with filching some Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and instead managed to set them off in the middle of the store. I'm lucky the shelves are protected or half my stock might have gone up in a blaze. Cheers, Abe," he said to the old barkeep who muttered under his breath as George gulped down half the pint and asked for another before setting the mug down and sighing.

"Not the best day myself," Ron said, a bit sourly. "Off to Helsinki to spend a wet, chilly day traipsing around following month old clues that lead nowhere. Bloody Scotland has better weather."

"Here's to a delightful afternoon and a better evening then," George said, raising his mug. Ron chuckled ruefully in agreement and clinked his own again it. "So why don't you tell me why we're really here, then?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Guess I gave it away by asking to meet up here instead of the Leaky?" George nodded. "Less chance of seeing someone we know well, I s'pose. Not too far out of the way. Can trust Abe to keep an eye out for anyone I'd not want overhearing our conversation."

"So Hermione's seriously considering the ritual, then?" George sat forward a little expectantly. "I'm glad she at least looked it over more thoroughly."

"She's not only considering it, she's really interested in it. I can tell she wants to do it because she won't share her research with me," Ron admitted. "She doesn't want to bias me or mislead me, but that sort of ancient magic is well outside my line, mate, and I'm not sure how comfortable I am with it. I need you to be honest with me about it." He glanced at his brother, a trusting look on his face.

"What do you want to know?" George leaned back, drinking deeply of his pint in a deliberate fashion.

"I need to know how dangerous it really is, what the risks involved are. I need to understand why you and she are so sure this will work, and I need to understand a whole lot more about this 'third party' business," Ron said, sounding quite authoritative. George could appreciate how Ron had risen through the ranks as an Auror on his own merit, with a tough, no-nonsense display like that.

"Let's start with the second point first, since theory is what I'm rather good at. The best I can offer is that if performed correctly, it is likely to succeed. The ritual preparations are extensive and work incrementally to influence multiple natural factors. I'm sure Hermione would understand more thoroughly the specifics, given her previous treatments, but I can trace how it is supposed to work. The old magics relied extensively on nature, seeking ways to work with nature or to alter it in the least resistant ways to achieve the desired outcome." George stopped to take a gulp of the second lager that had appeared before continuing.

"Nowadays, we tend to go for more direct routes, and bludger straight through to force the result we want. They can't quite do it with fertility, because there is so much chance involved in so many places, so they try to maximize different odds that they can control. This ritual would work less to make one or more aspect more optimal, and instead would work to enhance and harmonize all the various natural processes, leaving fewer things to chance and the final incantation itself should cause pregnancy to be achieved and to take hold." George's eyes were lit with excitement of discovery, something that Ron has missed during the immediate aftermath of Fred's death; he nearly smiled, but brought himself back to the main point.

"You said _if_ performed correctly," Ron said, a bit gruffly. "Hermione hasn't been terribly forthcoming about the potential risks if it is not performed correctly, though she mentioned possible sterility." George swallowed the gulp he'd taken and answered with a detached evaluation.

"Sterility is certainly a potential outcome. You're messing about reproduction in a rather vast way. It's not life threatening to either of you, provided you take the herbs and tisanes as prescribed. Some of them could be unpleasant if not handled properly, but not fatal. The greatest danger is really in the potion being brewed incorrectly and the potential effects of ingestion, but again, there is nothing inherently fatal in the combination or proportions of ingredients. If a step is skipped or done incorrectly, or the potion brewed incorrectly or the final incantation interrupted, then you would be looking at potentially more serious consequences, depending on which step has gone awry. But sterility would be about the worst of it for you. And of course, the amount of magic required to summon and direct the magic while the incantation is being invoked is as dangerous as in any other old magic. It's powerful, and draining."

"How draining?" Ron asked coolly, his blue eyes piercing his brother's face. "Neither of us are interested in you trying to kill yourself performing this, George."

"I'm not trying to kill myself, little brother," George said lightly. "Not quite noble enough for that. Tragedy's never really been my style."

"Don't make jokes, not about this, George," Ron snapped, flushing a bit. "Magical exhaustion is what you are talking about, isn't it? Or worse."

George held up his hands placatingly. "Exhaustion. It's not the sort of magic that could backfire in a deadly way if I broke the incantation. It could deplete my energy, though, yes."

"And that is nothing to scoff at. Wizards who have suffered from full magical exhaustion can be hospitalized for weeks. Some take up two years to regain their full magical power again. Can you manage your shop if you are out of it for months? If you can't cast charms or practice transfiguration because you are too weak? I'm not convinced this is really safe," Ron said, pursing his lips. "It's not exactly light magic, is it?"

"Look," George said in a stern voice that would have sounded more at home coming from his father, making Ron jump slightly. "I'm not stupid, and I'm not unaware of the dangers involved. I wouldn't offer to help if I weren't willing to make the potential sacrifices involved. In the end, you two are affected far more than I am. This isn't like taking a spoonful of fertility potion. There are several steps to the ritual, several things you need to do which may have a physical impact, particularly on Hermione. You'll be forcing her body to adjust its natural rhythms, controlling what happens. It's not likely to be a really comfortable process. Less invasive, maybe, than what the muggles do, but only just. I'm not sure St. Mungo's would exactly give this clearance if you were to run it by Penny, say. I know that if I don't do it, you won't consider asking anyone else because of everything that is entailed in this. But I am willing to do this to help you if you are willing to do it."

"It just seems so extreme," Ron said softly. "I don't want her to go through more pain. It's hard to shake the feeling that this is all a bit desperate."

"It is," George said succinctly. "I'd say this is probably a last ditch effort. If this doesn't work, I doubt anything will but sheer chance and luck. Only you and Hermione can decide whether or not you can handle the strain of that or not. Only you and Hermione can decide whether this is worth a go or not."

The brothers fell quiet, as Ron considered this. "You really think it could work."

"I know how much you love Hermione, you git. I love her too, in my own way, and I love you, little brother. I wouldn't have brought it up otherwise, I wouldn't give you false hope. Yes, I believe this will work, I just feel it," George answered, not quite meeting Ron's eyes. "I never thanked you, either of you, not properly, for what you did for me, and for Fred, after he died. It would have killed him to see the shop go under, and he'd have been bloody furious if I'd done myself in. You and Hermione, the pair of you stopped that happening. It's taken me years to pull my head of my arse to see it clearly, but I owe you more than you can imagine." He cleared his throat suspiciously, and Ron discreetly wiped his suddenly wet eyes.

"Yeah, well, I love you too, you stupid prat," he said, signalling Aberforth for another round. They sat in silence until it arrived, at which point George became brisk and businesslike again.

"I think you said you had some questions about the third party business?" George queried. "What do you understand from your reading of the spell?"

"I understand that after the potion is completed, that Hermione and I would have separate final steps of preparation, and some runes have to be painted on or something. Then we drink the potion and there is an initial incantation to begin the last stage of the ritual. Then we have to get intimate, while you cast a primary incantation at her. Once she has, uh -"

"Reached fulfillment, shall we say?" George said, eyes twinkling at his little brother's discomfiture, even as Ron glared at him.

"Right. Once she's reached fulfillment, then incantation ceases, you can leave, and then we have sex to seal the ritual. That's not complicated, George. The complication is the other party being present while we're involved with each other."

"D'you know, Ron, that Fred and I used to get hit on as a pair?" George asked, a faraway look on his face. "Happened a few times at Hogwarts, but when we opened the shop and it was stocked enough that we could actually stop brewing and production for an evening and go out with Lee or the gang, girls would be interested in the pair of us? Some of them were real lookers, too."

Ron's face twisted in a grimace of disgust. "No, and I think I'm happier not hearing where this is going."

"Fred and I were never interested, because for Merlin's sake, Ron, we were _brothers_. People thought, because we were twins, we might be into some really pervy things. If I wasn't interested when I was completely soused with firewhiskey and the most gorgeous bird you've ever seen in your life is whispering about the dirtiest, hottest things imaginable she wants to do with you if your brother is up for it too, why on earth do you think I want to see you and Hermione getting off in front of me when I'm stone cold sober and in love with my own stunning witch?" George crossed his arms, eyebrows raised, clearly waiting for an answer.

"I'm not accusing you of harbouring some kinky fantasy, George," Ron sputtered loudly, his face flushing. "I'm saying I'm not sure either Hermione or I are comfortable with another person in the room, let alone when he is my brother."

"Ron, there are plenty of things to take issue with in this ritual. But you've already explained the danger of magical exhaustion. You're a highly trained Auror. You know what kind of magical concentration is required for this level of complex magic. If I'm risking severe magical exhaustion and your fertility, I'm not really going to be in a frame of mind that is focused on anything other than performing the incantation correctly. But believe me, I think we'd all be happier if we can devise some sort of screen that allows me to cast the incantation properly but not see anything. Incestuous voyeurism is not really my kink." George picked up his mug of lager and drained it quickly. "Any other questions?"

Ron shook his head, considering everything George had told him. "I don't s'pose so. I have to think about it more."

"You do that, Ronnikins. You and Hermione can let me know what you decide. No hard feelings if it's not for you. Just another option to consider. I hate to abandon you, but I suspect Hermione would like you home soon, and I'm to meet Luna up for a date. Take care of yourself, yeah?" George tossed three galleons on the table to cover the bill and squeezed his brother's shoulder before calling a cheerful good-bye to Aberforth and disapparating.

-o0o-

Ron did think it over; in fact he thought of nothing else for two days when he ought to have been concentrating on bringing his paperwork up to date. Harry noticed his distraction, but as Ron was known to grouse about the tedious amounts of paperwork and procrastinate on it when action was thin, there didn't seem to be anything unusual in it. Hermione noticed his distraction as well, and wisely kept her thoughts and questions to herself, having finally learned through painful experience in their marriage that nagging and probing rarely ended in anything but a fight.

Her patience, though stretched thin, was rewarded when Ron suggested they retire early that night. Hermione was surprised, but willing. The tension that had hovered between them of late had taken a toll on their sex life, as had the lack of enthusiasm both held for scheduled intimacy at this point. A rare night of closeness and intimacy separated from necessity of conception, sought without a sigh or a remark about how long it had been was a welcome change of pace. Whatever distractions had focused Ron's attention over the last day or two – and Hermione guessed what they were – he was completely focused during their lovemaking this evening, being especially tender and attentive, more patient than demanding.

She had just called out his name in a breathless moan, as he thrust into her one last time, shuddering with his own completion, before collapsing beside her in a sweaty heap. Both of them required a few moments to regain control of their breathing, and then Ron spooned up against her, nuzzling her neck, making her shiver with the ticklish sensation.

"Bloody incredible, Hermione," he breathed. "You are so amazing, d'you know that?"

"I rather enjoyed myself as well, Ron," she said wryly.

"I want this back," he said suddenly, his voice more intense somehow. "We don't have this enough anymore."

Hermione twisted a bit in his arms so she could see his face more clearly, looking puzzled. "What are you talking about, Ron?"

"This, this closeness. Sex just being about a bloody good shag. I miss this, Hermione. I'm tired of watching you be so unhappy. I can't say I'm convinced about this ritual, because I'm not sure about it, not the way you and George are. But it seems like the end, either way, doesn't it?"

Hermione bit her lip, but nodded. "Yes, I think so. If it doesn't work, then I don't think anything the healers do will work, assuming we do it correctly."

"Are you ready to be done with it, Hermione?" he asked her seriously.

"I will be open to adoption if it doesn't work," she said softly. "I just have to know I've tried everything else first."

Ron sighed. "I don't like that it's dangerous."

Hermione smiled a bit. "Shouldn't that be my line? We've done dangerous things before, Ron. Far more dangerous than this."

"I definitely don't like the idea of George being there, but he made a fair point about being rather preoccupied."

"I haven't given that much thought," Hermione said. "I'm not thrilled with the idea, but he's not really watching, he'll be performing the incantation."

"He said this could take a real toll on you, physically," Ron sighed.

"Yes," she said simply. "I know that. I'm willing to try anyway." Quiet fell around them, and Hermione hardly dared to breathe, as she watched the emotions cross her husband's face.

"It might not work. I'm afraid of how you will be if it doesn't work," Ron said quietly, resting his forehead on hers. "I want you to be happy. I hate seeing you in pain, and the idea of all of this build-up and preparation and everything for something that may not work, I hate the idea, Hermione."

Hermione moved to take his face in her hands, and kissed his lips softly. "But then it's over. Then I've tried everything I can. I can't say I won't be hurt, Ron, I can't promise you that, but the questions will have been answered. It's the uncertainty that I can't deal with any longer right now. The idea that it should be working and it isn't and there is nothing I can do. How broken I feel. This will either fix it or put it to rest forever, and either way, I'll know. I won't question if we've made the right decision, or if we should have tried longer or harder or done something differently. But Ron, I love you, and I won't do this unless you agree to it."

"You want to, though, Hermione," he said, his voice a little flat.

"Yes," was her only response.

"All right then. One try. This is it. If this doesn't work, we are done," Ron said firmly.

"Are you sure, Ronald? I mean, really, truly sure? You can't change your mind halfway through," Hermione said, the little worry line appearing between her eyebrows, as her brown eyes searched his blue eyes, looking for some sign of hesitation.

"Yes. You can owl George in the morning. But you two had better know what you are doing. I don't want anything to happen to either of you." His voice was serious, and Hermione snuggled closer to him, trying not to cry with the relief and happiness she felt at his agreement, his willingness to try this for her, to be doing something at last. Ron seemed to understand her sudden inability to speak, and simply held her close, hoping this was the right decision.

-o0o-

Hermione anxiously watched the pink potion with the texture of sludge burble unpleasantly, feeling her stomach similarly roiling. George gave it thirteen clock-wise stirs and stepped back from it, carefully increasing the heat underneath it.

"It's got to simmer like this for three more days, with precise stirring, but it's otherwise complete, save for that last step. How're you holding up, love?" George asked, leaning against the counter beside the potion, looking completely at ease, and eyeing Hermione's pallor.

"Ghastly. You are completely calm, and Ron seems totally unbothered and I'm a bloody wreck. I change my mind eight or ten times a day, even though we've already begun the preparations, and I'm not sleeping well, and I can't seem to bring myself to eat anything. I'm completely bloated and feel like a cow, and I'm not sure how Ron is putting up with the mood swings, because I can barely stand them myself."

"Right then, time for tea and a comforting talk with your favourite brother-in-law," George said with a laugh, ushering Hermione in the direction of the flat upstairs.

"Oh, is Bill around?" she asked acerbically, making George laugh more loudly. He unlocked the door with a lazy flick of his wand and gently pushed Hermione inside.

"Sit down, tea'll be ready in a mo. Would you rather blackberry jasmine or Earl Grey?" he called from the kitchen as Hermione flopped onto the sofa.

"Earl Grey. Why on earth would you even have blackberry jasmine tea, George?" she called back.

In a few moments, he joined her, unconsciously mimicking her actions by flopping into the adjacent armchair. "Luna prefers it," was his explanation, and Hermione nodded her understanding.

"Maybe once this is over, we can finally all get together for dinner more regularly," she said. "Ron and I both enjoyed the brunch a last week."

"Luna did as well, albeit the three of you enjoyed that at my expense," George said drily, "I'd be willing to do it again. But stop trying to change the subject. What are you concerned about now?"

"Everything. Whether this will work, whether we are pushing too hard and trying to force something that ought to come naturally, whether I am sure we want children or not."

George raised an eyebrow at her, and she flushed. "I know how it sounds after everything, but it's been nearly a year and a half since we lost that baby, and it's been difficult, but really, you know, we have a good life. We are very lucky, Ron and I. We love each other and enjoy our time together and if we actually have a baby, a real, living child, who knows what will happen?" Hermione frowned at her hands, twisting the hem of her cardigan idly, before looking up again with a troubled face. "There is just so much unknown. This is quite a last resort and it's been remarkably intense and set my thoughts spinning into overdrive. I've been so unhappy, all this trying and wanting, but at least I know how this feels. I don't know how it feels to have a successful pregnancy and a living baby. I wonder if we're really ready for this, if we truly want that, or if it's been lost in the shuffle of trying to conceive. What is the real objective, conception or a child? I'm not sure anymore, and the longer I think about it, the murkier it all seems to be."

George cocked his head at her and smirked. "If I recall correctly, Ginny moaned on at your wedding reception about how you had kept her up all bloody night long with cold feet, going round in circles about getting married versus simply living together. I don't expect this is much different, really."

"I'm terrified it won't work. That's one of the things Ron was so concerned over. I said then it would be enough just to have tried everything, but now if it doesn't work, after everything, I'm not sure what I'll do then. It wouldn't be the end of the world, I know," she admitted quietly.

"But it would be devastating. No guarantees, you know that. But I believe it will work, Hermione," George said bracingly, as the kettle began whistling. "Back in a mo."

He returned with tea, to find Hermione biting her lip, still fidgeting with her cardigan. "How is Ron holding up?"

"Hale and hearty as a horse, though more than a bit grumpy that we're not allowed to have sex right now."

George snorted into his cup. "That's right, I'd forgotten about that. Listen, have you two determined where we're going to do this? I really need a sound-proofed room to collapse in when I've finished, and I'm sure we would all prefer that I didn't see anything more than can be helped. This is my brother, and well, _you_, after all, Granger. You're quite fit, et cetera, but if we're discussing our sick turn-ons, I really am more into bondage than voyeurism."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but answered the question anyway. "We've booked a holiday home in the wilds of Derbyshire. Ron said it was isolated enough for our purposes and near enough the ley lines that nothing unusual should be detected. I promise to personally sound-proof both rooms so that you won't be disturbed, and will try to set up some sort of screen if possible, though you'll have to be able to adequately direct the magic for maximum effectiveness. Least we could do, really," she said with nervous half-smile.

"Now, Hermione, we've been over this. You don't owe me anything, this is me repaying a debt," George said firmly, ending the tired argument before it could begin again. "Just promise me that you will take better care of yourself. This is going to be hard enough on you without you being physically weakened going into it."

Hermione nodded meekly, resolved to force down food at her next meal. "I'll try, George. I promise."

"Right then. I'll see you back here in three days for the last addition. Don't forget to take the chasteberry tincture for the next three days, and make sure that Ron takes the flaxseed oil in the mornings."

Hermione took a deep breath, and nodded again. George's hand found hers and squeezed. "It will work, Hermione. I can feel it."

-o0o-

Ron was agitated, though his training enabled him to hide that fact. Hermione was buzzing about, checking and rechecking the proper preparations, ensuring that he'd taken his herbs, driving George mad, packing and repacking their bags. He almost wished she'd not taken vacation from work, but he couldn't imagine how distracted and terrifying she'd be in the MLE offices, and it did afford him some small break from her obsessive worrying, so he opted to keep his opinion to himself.

The downside to this was that he was doing paperwork in the office he shared with Harry, and Harry knew him better than anyone. It was impossible to keep his agitation from his best mate, but there was no way he was about to share what was going to happen this weekend with Harry. George had threatened to use him as a test subject for the next thirty products if he so much as breathed a word, and Ron knew he was being serious. Too bad that Harry wouldn't relent on that point.

"Really, Ron, just tell me what's happening," he pleaded. "I'm starting to be concerned about the lot of you. It's really unusual for Hermione to take vacation, and now you're switching shifts?"

Ron sighed. "Harry, mate, normally I'd tell you, but I can't."

"What? Are you and Hermione having problems, mate? Ginny is started to get worried." Harry looked genuinely concerned.

Ron saw his chance. "Well, things have been a bit rocky of late, but that's what we're trying to sort now. So we're going away this weekend. Hermione thought that maybe if we took a complete break for two or three days, we'd be able to reconnect or something." He looked down, as if embarrassed, keen to avoid the emerald gaze that seemed to read every thought, rather like Dumbledore's probing stare had been.

"That's what we were afraid of. It's because she's not ready for kids, isn't it?" Harry asked knowingly.

"What? No! Merlin's bollocks, Mum's not on about that again, is she?" Ron exclaimed, sounding irritated, hoping it covered the sudden increase in his heart-rate, hoping his traitorous ears weren't obviously, deceptively red.

"No more than usual, but Ginny's noticed that Hermione hasn't been round to see her as often since we told you all about the baby. It's really been bothering her. I think she just sort of put that together with what I've noticed about you two over the past few months, and well. . ." Harry's voice trailed off in consternation.

"No, no. Hermione and I still love each other very much and we are on the same page about children, despite what Mum and Fleur seem to think. It's just a bit of a rough patch. Since she moved into the MLE, you know. We're still adjusting, that's all. She feels really positive that this weekend will help us refocus, and I'm not about to say no to a weekend filled with shagging, am I?" Ron knew that a reference to their marital activities would be enough to change subjects. It was a tacit agreement between them, since Harry viewed Hermione as a sister and Ginny was actually Ron's sister; sex talk was strictly off limits.

"Right. Well, I'll make sure you aren't disturbed. It should be good for Hermione to have a break from work and relax some. Before you get going though, anything else come in on Dolohov's foreign contacts?"

As conversation shifted, Ron let out an involuntary sigh of relief; he would be much happier when this was all done with, whatever the outcome.

-o0o-

Rose Cottage wasn't just isolated, it was out in the middle of bloody nowhere. Ron, Hermione, and George were quite relieved that they'd been given apparition coordinates, because if they'd had to rely on Muggle transport, it would have taken hours to wind their way to the cottage, tucked away amongst the peaks as it was. The reason for the whimsical naming of the cottage was not immediately apparent, as it seemed quite deserted and desolate, with no garden or roses in sight. The quiet solitude, and apparently odd choice in name, combined with their purpose for being there served only to make them wary, and a little jumpy. Ron and George exchanged glances and shifted uneasily while Hermione furtively scanned the sweeping landscape for signs of another living presence. It seemed, as promised, that they were quite alone.

"Well," Ron finally said, "better to go in than stand out here in the bloody wind." And he strode forward, Hermione and George following. There was a note attached to the door, informing them that the house-elves assigned to see to their comfort could be summoned by asking aloud for Codgey or Hawes. That understood, Ron opened the door and they trooped in together.

It then became suddenly apparent why Rose Cottage had been thus named, as they quickly realized they were completely engulfed in a veritable garden of cabbage rose fabrics in every conceivable place from sofa to draperies, and wall to wall pink carpeting that continued up the stairs. Dried roses were arranged in vases scattered throughout the room, and the lamps were decorated with silk rosettes and embroidered flowers, while the needlepoint cushions littering the furniture all depicted scenes of rose gardens. There was a look of horror on the faces of the brothers, and Hermione couldn't stop the giggle that escaped at seeing the absurd room and their faces. They looked at her curiously, and she giggled even harder, nearly collapsing onto the fussy sofa in a fit of laughter.

"What is so amusing about this horror-show?" George demanded. "I feel as if I'm about to be suffocated by bloody cabbage roses!"

"This place looks like it was decorated by Dolores Umbridge's little sister," she gasped, and Ron cracked a smile, and George shook his head.

"Mental, utterly mental. I'm terrified to see the bedrooms," George muttered sulkily, but they braved the pink stairs anyway to find the theme continued, though with a bit more restraint. One room was clearly an homage to yellow roses, the other to white roses, which George hastily claimed for his by withdrawing his trunk from his pocket and carefully restoring it full size.

Ron did the same, and Hermione explored the loo, which seemed to be the sole room in the house not devoted to absurdly literal translations of theme, and instead equally absurdly devoted to the sea, with everything charmed some shade of blue-green, containers of seashells on every possible surface, and faucets and taps shaped like seahorses. Another fit of giggles overtook her and she returned to her bedroom to calm herself down. Nerves were certainly playing a role, no doubt, but it was humorous in the level of awful taste.

After the trio had unpacked, George stepped outside to consult the sky, and returned to tell Hermione and Ron that he thought the following night the phase of the moon would be more exactly what was proscribed in the ritual, and that the potion could be kept in stasis until then, if they wanted to wait for the following day. Hermione consulted the book, though she knew the words by heart, and studied the moon herself for a solid ten minutes before agreeing with George that it would probably be more favourable the following night. There was a lingering feeling of tension in each of them, though they attempted to dispel the sober mood by sharing a cask of Rosmerta's best ale and playing at Muggle card games with an Exploding Snap deck. Still, there was an oppressive feeling of strain in the air, and they all retired earlier than later.

When George had disappeared to his bedroom, and both Ron and Hermione had visited the loo and were safely tucked into bed, with the lights dimmed, Hermione lay on her side, her husband spooned close behind her. Facing away from him, in the darkness and the the quiet seemed to give her the courage to speak about their plans one last time.

"It's our last chance to back out. Are you certain about this?" she asked in a near-whisper, as if a normal tone might pierce the darkness and the moment of brave honesty she'd summoned.

Ron snuggled closer to her, his breath warm on her neck as he spoke in a low voice, sending a shiver of lust through her. "Yes, I am. And I think you are too. It's frightening, the unknown. But we aren't Gryffindors for nothing, Hermione, and this is nothing really, in the end. It seems monumental, because we've tried for so long, and this is the last big thing left to do. It's consumed us for months now, and finally being on the point of moving on with it is a bit scary, yeah?"

She nodded. Ron may not always be eloquent, but he did possess an uncanny knack of bludgering straight to the heart of the matter. He continued to speak. "I know how much you want to try this. To know you've tried everything in your power to try. George seems to think it will work, and you did too at one point. So push aside the doubts and give it a go. Come this time tomorrow night, we'll be too busy to worry about it, and come this point in two weeks, worst that happens is we're no worse off than now."

"But we would be if it doesn't work, Ron," she whispered. "Right now, we still have the hope of something else to try, of one last effort maybe working. If this fails, then that hope is gone. We have nothing left."

"Would you stop everything to cling to the hope of what you want, when you could have what you actually want? If this doesn't work, there are still other ways to become parents. We could look into adoption again."

"I don't know if I can, Ron. I'm not sure I can handle that," she admitted.

"You're also not sure you can handle the stress of another pregnancy," he retorted, "but you're willing to try. Look, love, I know you like answers for every possible scenario, but it's a bit like chess, innit? You can try to plan a strategy, but your plans will always be altered by the your opponent's strategy. No matter how you try to predict the next move and think ahead, it's still partially a guessing game. That's how life is, sweetheart. You know that. We can plan all we want, predict a hundred different scenarios, but it won't matter until the next move happens. And you can't play chess or live life paralyzed, always trying to guess what'll happen next. You just have to make your move and hope it was the right one, and adapt if it wasn't."

Hermione gave a soft chuckle. "Always chess with you, isn't it?"

"Chess or quidditch," he agreed, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Two things I'm good at. Sometimes sex, too," he added, as his hand slid up to caress her breast, causing her breathing to hitch slightly, and her body to arch lightly into his touch.

"Mmmm," she breathed, before catching herself, and scolding him. "Stop it now. You know the ritual calls for abstention prior to the ingestion of the potion for maximum effectiveness. Don't tempt me."

Ron sighed, but moved his hand obligingly. "Will definitely be glad when we are done with this."

Hermione's fingers laced through Ron's, where his hand rested comfortingly at her hip, and she gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze. "Me too, darling. Me too."

The couple lapsed into silence after that, and shortly into sleep. Hermione's dreams were haunted by a crawling baby with gooey smiles and bright blue eyes, by a laughing toddler with wispy red curls, and by the brilliant smile her husband gave her as he steadied their daughter on her first training broom. She sighed contentedly in her sleep, watching her dream unspool with longing, even in her sleep.

-o0o-

There was little attempt at levity or distraction the following day. George and Ron engaged in distracted games of chess, while Hermione curled up in an armchair to read a comforting book, but without really absorbing it. The day was broken up only by the meals delivered by one of the house-elves, who was dismissed for the night; the potion had to be taken no less than four hours after the last meal and no more than three hours before the moon reached its zenith. They gathered in the dining room for an early supper, and it was clear they were uneasy. No one said much, just picked at their meals. Soberness reigned again, now they were faced with what they'd come here to do. George had the potion out of stasis and back over a low flame, simmering gently, and awaiting the final ingredients before it was to be ingested, and Ron and Hermione had set out and organized everything they'd need for the intensive final preparations for the upcoming ritual. When Hermione finally ceased her pretence of eating, and Ron had tucked away her leftovers, George finally spoke.

"Right, well, you lot have got everything you need? The herbs and symbols you'll need to paint yourselves with?"

Ron answered. "Yes, Hermione has triple-checked it all three times, and has instructions printed out very clearly for me with diagrams of the ancient runes. I've got the barley wheat and the dragon heartstring for the potion and Hermione's got the primrose syrup and the unicorn hair for hers. She's tested me on the remaining steps of ritual and I could probably recite it by heart. Feel like I'm revising for O.W.L.'s again, really."

"And you know what you need to do as I cast the spell?"

"Er, yeah, it's not new, just not anything we've ever done with an audience," Ron said, his ears scarlet, while Hermione blushed.

"Right, well, I'll be averting my eyes, and as busy as possible, not to mention the clever screen Hermione thoughtfully provided, so no worries there. If I actually do see or hear anything, I'll obliviate myself afterwards. Just remember, Hermione, no faking it. The spell won't work if you don't reach orgasm during the casting and again after intercourse. And it might be harder than you realize, because this spell is going to be directing very powerful magic at you, and into you." George looked almost as nervous as Hermione felt, which was not the most reassuring thing ever, she thought dourly.

"It'll be fine," she said bracingly, with only the slightest tremble in her voice.

"I'm not casting aspersions on Ron's skills in the bedroom, just reiterating the importance of this. I'll continue repeating the incantation until Ron tells me it's safe to leave. And then I'll stumble along and collapse in my room. You'll have one hour from the time I cease the incantation for both of you to reach climax, and Hermione has to climax last, Ron."

"I know," Ron responded testily.

"Sorry, George, it's just that I think we're all apprehensive. Everything you've done for us with this is beyond amazing. Really, thank you," Hermione said earnestly, squeezing Ron's arm soothingly. "I suppose I should go ahead and get started, since my preparations should take the longest time."

George nodded, and Hermione rose while Ron began to clean up the remains of their hasty meal. She trooped upstairs and, as promised, covered the bedrooms in silencing charms, to ensure that there was no way George would be disturbed by their activities after he left them. She likewise cast a charm to muffle the sounds that might come from the bed, but without completely eliminating them, as George would need to know when to cease his chanting and casting, settling the screen she'd devised at an angle that ought to prevent George seeing anything untoward, but without deflecting the magic away from herself or Ron. Downstairs, she knew Ron and George were setting up elaborate wards to ensure their safety and privacy while this was done, and she was grateful that George would be the only distraction. She wasn't entirely certain how she was going to be able to relax enough for everything with him in the room, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that he would be in deep concentration to hold the spell together, and not watching their activities. With a sigh, Hermione began running a bath so that she could begin the final preparations of her own.

-o0o-

Ron stood barefoot before Hermione, wearing only plain cotton pyjama trousers, a passable rendering of the runes painted on his naked chest, and Hermione faced him, only a hint of the runes visible above the modest neckline of her cotton nightdress. At George's instruction, they held up their hands and touched them palm to palm as he circled them, invoking the first of the fertility charms with his steady, paced incantation and sharp wandwork. A tingle ran through both Ron and Hermione, and a frisson of expectation sizzled through the air, as George regained his original position, and tucked his wand away, reaching for the potion that he and Hermione and painstakingly concocted together.

"Here, add the final pieces to each of them," George said, his face a mask of concentration. "Good, now just let me stir one last time; and there. Precisely as described." Two large tankards were filled with something that looked remarkably like Pepto-bismal and smelled like strawberries. Both Hermione and Ron reached for the tankards, and with George watching, they began swallowing the potion as quickly as they could, though the taste wasn't as foul as they expected. Still, the texture was chunkier than either quite preferred and Hermione found it hard not to gag on it and was relieved to set her empty tankard down.

She could feel a tingling in her toes and fingers, and a warmth spreading out from her abdomen that put her in memory of a lust potion she'd taken on her honeymoon at Ron's teasing insistence. It hadn't been needed, but it did reduce her inhibitions a great deal. Ron seemed to be similarly experiencing effects from the potion and George ushered them into their own bedroom, where he dimmed the lights as much as he could. He took his place behind the screen and closed his eyes, focusing inwardly to find the core of his magic and allowing Hermione privacy to finish undressing and slide onto the bed, grateful his brother would remain clothed until George's own part was done. The bedclothes had been removed so that nothing would interfere with the concentration of magic that would be flowing towards Hermione and Ron. He glanced quickly up to ensure they were in place, and his wand was pointed in the correct direction and was relieved to note that Hermione had dampened the sound that could emanate from the bed. He averted his eyes and with a deep breath began reciting the complicated incantation in a soft, steady voice. George could feel the air begin to crackle around him as the magic gathered around him and inside him and began to be directed towards Hermione.

Ron and Hermione were only vaguely aware of George near them, and even of the magic that was beginning to envelope them. They were each taken over by a pounding, thrumming longing that compelled them to seek each other, to touch each other, to kiss one another. It was necessary to get as close as possible, to reach for each other. The need became more urgent, particularly for Hermione, as Ron's hands skimmed over her entire body, setting fire to her, stoking her passions so that she could not possibly keep quiet or hold back the pleasure and want he was pulling from her. She could dimly feel the potent magic flowing into her; a feeling of love and longing, an increasingly vibrant electric feeling, making her feel powerful and strong. As more magic poured through her, the more primal her urges became, the more desire she felt and the stronger her physical response to Ron. Hermione could think only of him, of urging him to continue what he was doing, of how clever his mouth was, his hands were, how desperate she was for him to touch just there . . .

George continued his steady repetition of the incantation, though it was growing increasingly harder to hold his concentration. The longer he cast this spell at Hermione and Ron, the more drained he was becoming. He had no idea how long it had been since he began, he'd even lost count of the number of times he'd invoked the spell, but he was dimly aware that the sounds from the bed were becoming louder and more insistent. Just as George began seriously to fear he might collapse and interrupt the spell, he heard Hermione cry out in what he fervently hoped was extreme pleasure, and as he came near to finishing that round of the incantation, Ron appeared behind the screen and touched George's arm; George ceased the repetitions of the incantation and said the final words to complete the spell, and promptly felt his knees buckle. Ron, though completely flushed, and judging by his eyes, completely aroused, caught George and helped him to the hallway and into George's own room.

"I'm good from here, little brother," he said in a shaky, exhausted voice.

Ron looked at him through the haze of lust pounding through his body and said in a low, husky voice, "It means everything to her. I can't thank you enough."

"Tell you what," George groaned, sagging against his doorframe. "If it works, you can let me name your kid."

"Done," Ron said, with a grin, turning his back on his brother and returning to his wife. They did have to complete the ritual, after all.

-o0o-

Sometime late the next morning, Hermione slipped into George's bedroom, carrying a tray of food, the smell of which made him groan. He felt as if he'd fallen off his broomstick; everything ached. Nevertheless, he forced himself up into a sitting position, and relieved her of the tray.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely.

"You're welcome," she responded quietly. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I could sleep for days, or like I did that time Fred used me for bludger practice," he answered ruefully. "How about you and Ron? You look as if you didn't sleep a wink."

"No, we slept some, but apparently one side effect of the potion is a super-strength lust potion. Even after the spell was sealed, we were under the effects until it wore off. Ron is very tired, but I feel very energetic. It was very odd last night, the feeling of the magic, very sexually potent, but also filled with love." She turned pink relaying this to her brother-in-law, despite the fact that he had been present when she'd had the first of the most mind-blowing orgasms she'd ever experienced.

"Yes, well, I can imagine how that went, and am eternally thankful that you charmed the rooms for me," George said drily. "So you did seal the spell?"

"Oh yes. It seems as if everything worked correctly, but I suppose we'll know in two weeks," she said, a bit grimly.

"I did want to ask, though it's completely personal, so I won't be offended if you say no, but since I've come along this far on the ride -" George said, stumbling over his words in his haste to say them, looking rather as if he were afraid of Hermione.

"You're babbling," she said, sounding amused.

"Can I be there when you take the potion?" George said in a rush.

"Of course," she responded with no hesitation. We'll have you over for dinner, and I'll wait until the evening to do the test potion. But that's two weeks from now, and you are near a case of magical exhaustion, so rest up. You brought your standard potions kit?" George nodded as he reached for his tea. "Right. I'll just brew up a pain-relieving potion for you while you eat. You need to finish that and then you need to take it easy for the rest of the holiday."

"Yes, Mum Hermione," George said in dutiful voice that made Hermione smile and roll her eyes simultaneously. To get even, she ruffled his hair as Molly always did, and gave him a wink before leaving the room.

-o0o-

Ron and George were sitting tensely in Ron's lounge. Hermione was in the loo, doing the test. It was about seven minutes until the moment of truth.

"Bit weird, mate. Normally, I'm doing this part alone," Ron observed.

"Does she always hide in the loo like this?" George asked. "The handful of times I've done this, always hoping for a green result, of course, the witch was with me and we watched together."

"Yes, she's a bit superstitious about being alone. I think it helps her to be able to compose herself before she sees me, like. She always tries to be so strong about it."

"It'll have worked, Ron. I know it. I felt it then, and I can feel it now," George said, as confidently as he could.

"Hermione's been in a dither all week. I hope it did work," he said pensively, and the brothers lapsed back into apprehensive silence.

Five minutes passed, and they heard the door of the loo open. They exchanged a glance, and both of them seemed grow rigid with anticipation as Hermione walked through the doorway, a neutral mask on her face, one hand behind her back.

"Well?" asked George impatiently.

"Honey?" Ron asked, frown furrowing his brow as he waited for her response.

"Purple," she announced, holding the potion out for their inspection. The phial indeed held a shimmering shade of plum liquid, indicating pregnancy. Ron whooped and engulfed his wife in a hug, while George cheered, but Hermione shushed them both. "This is a good sign, but Ron, you and I both know it's only the first step in a line of them. This isn't the first time we've had a purple potion that turned blue again after a few days."

"Yes, but love, they weren't nearly as rich a purple as this is," he retorted hopefully. "Those were more lilac, you know."

"I know, I just want don't want to get carried away," Hermione said.

"I knew it would work," George said, his eyes shining. "This one will be fine, you'll see, Hermione. I know it. And then, Ron, you'll have to remember our deal."

Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Ron gulped as George smirked. "What deal is that, Ronald?"

"Oh, uh, well. See, I was still under the effects of the potion, right? Clearly not in my right mind, and I didn't think George would actually remember anything, and we were under a bloody time limit, for Merlin's sake!" he stammered.

"That doesn't answer my question. What deal did you make with George?" she asked in her dangerously polite tone.

"I, uh, may have agreed that we could thank him by letting him name our baby if it worked," Ron mumbled.

"You _what_?" Hermione shrieked. "Oh, Ron, tell me you didn't!" He shrugged helplessly, and George grinned. "George, I didn't agree to this, you can't possibly think I would, either."

"Oh, come now, Hermione. A deal is a deal, and besides, I've long that Methuselah was perfectly smashing name for a boy or a girl."

Hermione groaned loudly, but couldn't help smiling a bit as well. George's optimism and faith were refreshing, and though she would be cautious, she couldn't help but feel a tiny flutter of hope in her chest that he may have been right all along.

-o0o-

_A/N: Well, this chapter ended up being pretty long, but I wasn't satisfied with the chapter lengths or breaks when I tried separating it. I hope I will be believed now regarding the putative involvement of George and Hermione – this story was always intended to be about Hermione and Ron and George is only there in a supportive role. As I said before, the lengths to which people will go, the rationals by which they choose to act, or not, are rarely pre-determined, nor set in stone. When faced with a question of extremes, and an emotional decision that can't be decided rationally or logically, what would one choose?_

_I think it is an interesting question, but only half the equation. Pregnancy for someone who has experienced infertility, and especially for someone who has experienced previous pregnancy loss, is hardly a walk in the park. I know that for myself and others who have experienced pregnancy loss, it is a test of endurance, of balance, of will and of relinquishing control. And that is what Hermione is about to face. _

__As always, I appreciate your reading and hope you are enjoying. For readers of my other (seemingly neglected) stories, I hope to update soon. I've been working on the stories, revising plotlines that seemed too clichéd or obvious. I want to do them justice, and have not had the concentration or time between work (horrid) and my own anxiety-laden high risk pregnancy (going better than we could have imagined – 28 weeks now, to our great relief and welcome surprise) to write with the attention they deserve. Hope everyone is well. Cheers.__


	4. Chapter 4

-o0o-

"_Courage is like love; it must have hope for nourishment." _

Napolean Bonaparte

-o0o-

Pregnancy was taking a real toll on Hermione. The initial elation had subsided shortly after the accompanying symptoms arrived. Ron felt helpless as he listened to Hermione through the closed bathroom door. For the fourth night in a row, she was vomiting up the dinner she'd eaten only hours before. She vomited in the morning before breakfast as she brushed her teeth, was queasy throughout the day and looked green most of the time. George had even sent the recovery portions of the Puking Pastilles in the hopes they might help keep the nausea at bay, but Hermione hadn't been able to choke them down. Ron felt awful for her suffering; none of the other pregnancies had had such terrible morning sickness. This had been going on for almost a month now, and he felt utterly useless listening to her being ill.

"Hermione, love, can I bring you anything? Water, tea, ginger biscuit? Anything?" he called out.

"Water," she gasped out, another wave of nausea leading her to hover over the toilet, heaving again.

Ron was back with ice cold water in minutes, frowning at his wife's pallor. He held the glass steady as she took several small sips.

"You certain this is normal, darling?" he asked with concern.

"Penny said so yesterday, didn't she?" Hermione said wearily. "A good sign, even. I never had any sickness with the pregnancies that ended early. This means the hormones are strong."

"I hate seeing you like this, though," he said quietly.

"I don't much care for it, myself," she said with a ghost of a smile. Ron brushed the hair out of her tired face and kissed her forehead, and she was grateful for his attentive care.

A moment passed and Hermione said timidly, "Ron?"

"What, love?"

"I'm not sure I can do this," she whispered.

"What's that?" Ron settled himself beside her on the floor of the loo, leaning against the bathtub.

"This, all of it. I hate feeling like this, and then I know I should be grateful to be so sick when it's a positive sign but I'm so tired of vomiting. And being tired, and moody. I worry every day that today is the day that something will go wrong, and it's just so mentally exhausting."

"Oh, Hermione. It's not easy. It won't be easy, just like it wasn't easy to get here," Ron looked at her with complete seriousness. "I know you'd speed up time if you could, get to the point where you feel reassured. But you can't. You've just got to take every day as it comes."

"I know that, but I'm not sure I can do this. Sometimes I feel my heart racing, I'm so anxious," she admitted.

"Hermione, I'm going to tell you a secret," Ron said, reaching out for her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"What's that?"

"You are doing it. Just keep going," he said. "I'm very proud of you, y'know."

Hermione wanted to thank him, to kiss him, to let him know how much she appreciated him saying absolutely the right thing, but another wave of nausea put an end to that romantic moment.

-o0o-

Two more weeks of intense nausea and extreme fatigue passed, leaving Hermione tired and cranky. Ron was working on a Saturday, and Hermione had enjoyed the peacefulness and the chance to get more of the sleep she'd been wishing for. Hermione woke from an afternoon nap feeling absolutely normal.

It had been weeks since she'd had any appetite at all. The background of uneasy stomach rumbling that had comprised the moments away from full-on queasiness or actual vomiting was simply gone. Her stomach lurched, but with fear rather than aversion to food. Then, following hard on that revelation was another – her breasts, which had been achingly tender and swollen since right around the time the potion turned purple felt normal. Not straining against her bra as they had been, or feeling heavy and full. Experimentally, she poked at one of her breasts, and there was no twinge of discomfort, as there had been the previous day. She could feel a panic rising within her, as she groped at her breasts – now, of course, they felt sore, but was that merely the result of her groping at them? Even the bloat that Ron liked to pretend was the beginning of a baby bump seemed smaller as Hermione pressed her hands to her lower abdomen and felt her stomach lurch with fear.

Trying to remain as calm as possible, trying not to fear the absolute worst, but unable to choke back the terror that threatened to overwhelm her, she floo'd the Auror Office, and asked the secretary to let Ron know she was looking for him. While waiting for him, she paced back and forth through the kitchen, mind whirling. She tried to distract herself by making tea, but her hands were shaking so badly that she spilled it.

Ron apparated home within twenty minutes of receiving Hermione's message, but it felt like hours. He found her white-faced, shaking, and on the verge of hysterical tears.

"My breasts aren't sore," she said with shaky breaths.

"What?" he asked dumbly. Hermione wasn't one to panic much, and the site of her in so much distress was difficult to wrap his mind round.

"My breasts, Ron! They aren't sore. And I ate a late lunch. Crumpets and cheese. And I don't feel sick at all. I'm actually still hungry, Ron." Hermione looked at him beseechingly, willing him to understand what she was afraid to say.

"Well, but that's normal, isn't it? For symptoms to come and go? Penny said you wouldn't continue to feel so bad forever, right?"

"I don't know," she answered, twisting the hem of her cardigan wildly. "Is it normal for symptoms to just entirely disappear? I don't know. And look at me, I'm nowhere near as bloated as I was yesterday. Oh, Ron!"

Ron pulled her into a tight hug. "I'm sure things are fine, love. You're just a bit worked up."

"Are they fine? How would you know? How long did I walk around the first few times thinking things were fine when they were anything but?" Hermione began to cry.

"Love, you have an appointment next week. You'll see," Ron said soothingly, rubbing her back.

"I'm terrified, Ron. I don't think I can do this," she sobbed into his chest.

"D'you want me to floo Penny and see if she can come check you over?" he asked quietly.

"I feel so stupid," Hermione said, wiping her eyes a bit.

"Is that a yes?" Ron asked gently, knowing she was not any more reassured than when he walked into the cottage. Hermione nodded miserably, knowing that the tension she was feeling would only increase, and she felt as if she were about to break from the strain as it was.

"Right. Let me floo over there and see if she is at home or at St. Mungo's." Ron gave her a reassuring squeeze and with a pinch of floo powder, his head disappeared into green flames. She couldn't hear the conversation, but after five minutes or so, Ron backed out of the fireplace and smiled encouragingly at his wife. "She's on her way over as soon as she can get her neighbour to watch Molly for a bit."

Hermione waited at the kitchen table, unable to stop the nervous bouncing of her foot, while Ron sought more useful occupation in pouring tea for himself, offering more to Hermione, putting the kettle back on.

Penelope came through the Floo after about ten minutes, a small black medical bag in hand, looking faintly concerned.

"All right, Hermione?" she asked kindly, and Hermione felt her eyes well up with tears again as she shook her head. "Ok, right, let's go into the lounge, shall we? I'll need you to stretch out on the couch in a few moments. Sorry it took so long. Mrs. Watts is lovely and always willing to take Molly for a tea party when I get called out, but she's a bit hard of hearing and it can take awhile to rouse her. Sit down, and I'm going to just take your vitals. Tell me what's going on while I do that, yes?"

"I've been feeling so sick since the potion turned purple. So many symptoms. We talked about that at my last appointment. I've been feeling run down and tired, so I took a nap. When I woke up, I was actually hungry. I didn't feel queasy or ill at all. And then I realized that my breasts don't feel tender and swollen. Even the bloating I was feeling is down. I'm just terrified it's all over," Hermione whispered at the end of recitation.

"Well, your vitals are fine, but your blood pressure is a bit high, probably from the anxiety you are feeling right now," Penny said. "Any cramping or bleeding?"

"I'd had a fair amount of cramping, but nothing like the miscarriages. More mild twinges," Hermione said. "I thought it was normal? No bleeding or spotting or anything."

"Right, that's quite good," Penelope said encouragingly. "Remember that your uterus has to expand from the size of a pear to the size of a healthy watermelon. That will involve some cramping and stretching. You know what worrisome cramps feel like. Go ahead and lay back."

Hermione lay down on the couch, and felt as if she were having trouble breathing. Penny eased her shirt up a bit, and pushed the waistband of her pants down a bit to have a feel at her lower abdomen.

"Good news there, everything feels right on target size wise. You do know that symptoms can come and go quite suddenly?"

"Yes, I know, but, it's just . . ." Hermione's voice began wobbling again and Penny squeezed her hand.

"I do understand, Hermione. Let's go ahead and do the projection spell, all right? Ron, can you dim the lights? Everything looked good last time, which you know is quite encouraging. I see no reason to be concerned right now."

Ron did as he was asked, and then reached over the back of the sofa to hold Hermione's clammy hands. This all felt horribly familiar and he knew precisely what Hermione was feeling. If, after everything they'd gone through to get to this point, this one too were over . . . he wasn't sure what he would do, to be honest.

Penny murmured the incantation, and the projection rose over Hermione's abdomen. And there, in the middle was their baby, wriggling a bit, heart visibly flickering in its chest. The relief and a smile were evident in Penny's voice.

"There, you see? Right on target, perfect size, heartbeat just perfect. If you look closely, you can see the limbs there, yeah?"

Hermione couldn't help it; all the tension burst and she began to cry great big, racking sobs. Penny hastily cancelled the spell and Ron vaulted around the couch to gather his weeping wife in his arms. She heard the kettle whistling and thought tea spiked with a mild calming draught would be appropriate, and she knew Hermione would want time to collect herself. She hated to be seen falling apart or overly emotional.

"Hey, love, calm down," Ron said in a low voice, rocking Hermione as she released all her anxieties in her tears. "You are fine, the baby is fine. It's going to be all right, yeah?"

"I know," Hermione sobbed. "I'm sorry."

"No, no. No apologies. Just calm down if you can," he said. "I understand. It's been a fright, that's all. You are fine, the baby is fine." Ron rocked her, and repeated these words until Hermione was able, through great force of will, to stop her sobs, and gather herself.

"I know, I'm sorry," she repeated, this time to Penny as she reappeared with tea.

"It's quite alright, Hermione," Penelope said kind. "It's a very scary road you are walking during this pregnancy, I quite understand. Drink this. It has a mild calming draught in it, to warn you."

Hermione dutifully took a sip and made a face at the bitter taste, and Penny sat down.

"Right, okay. First thing, you are reaching a point at which symptoms will begin to decrease and subside. They may return, or not. Once the placenta takes over hormone function, things begin to level off and you begin to feel better. Your morning sickness may return, so take advantages of absence by eating what you can. Baby is going to start relying more on you to provide nutrients through the placenta, all right?"

Hermione nodded.

"Second thing, you cannot allow yourself to get so worked up. It's not healthy for you, or the baby, to have so much stress. Now, that being said, there is little way to alleviate the anxiety you are feeling and will feel. We can help a bit though, by monitoring you every week to two weeks, instead of the normal schedule."

"I think I would appreciate that," Hermione admitted.

"And of course, if you feel concerned for any reason, just floo or have Ron floo. I'm happy to check you over at any point, Hermione."

"Thanks, Penelope," Ron said gratefully.

"It's my pleasure. I know everything you've been through makes this quite frightening at times, but you need to do your best to remain calm. I will prescribe a mild calming draught to be taken regularly if you need it, but I think you will do best if you can learn to manage the anxiety, ok, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, feeling more than a bit foolish. Ron seemed to sense what she was thinking, because he gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"Right then," Penny said cheerfully. "Since all is well, I'm going to get back home. I have the overnight shift and want to get dinner ready for Percy and Molly. I'm going to leave your appointment on the books and modify your schedule, okay?"

Penelope packed up her bag and leaned down to kiss Hermione on the cheek and give her shoulder a squeeze. "Just floo if you need anything, dear. See you next week."

She left, leaving the flagon of calming draught on the table. Hermione wiped her eyes and looked sheepishly at her husband.

"Ron, I'm so sorry. This isn't really like me. I feel so foolish, but all I could think was it must be over," Hermione said.

"I know," he said gently.

"It's only that I feel so scared all the time. It took so much for us to get here. What if it goes bad again? We're still so far from a living child," she said, idly twisting one of her sleeves between her fingers.

"And it's been so hard on you. If all of this is for nothing, that would be pretty hard to swallow," Ron added.

"Yes, exactly. Some days, I'm simply not sure I can do it any longer. It's always on my mind. It's like I'm constantly analyzing symptoms without even realizing it. Even when I know that doesn't mean anything," she added quickly. "I can't help it. I feel I'm going to go a bit mad."

"I won't let that happen, darling," Ron said, squeezing her tightly. "We just do as Penny said, yeah? Try to find ways to cope as best you can each day, and if it gets to be too much, then call her in to check you."

"Right. But then I feel foolish. I hate that," she whinged.

Ron chuckled. "I know you do. But you can't walk about in a right state all day. I do think it will get better, eventually."

"I hope so. I am so bloody tired of feeling so schizophrenic."

"Well, for now, d'you think you could eat anything?"

"Maybe. Have we got any ingredients to make waffles, maybe?" she asked hopefully.

"I'll take a look. You just lay here and rest for now, yeah? I'll be back in a mo."

Ron was in the kitchen for maybe ten minutes, locating all the necessary ingredients. When he went to inform Hermione, he found her fast asleep. He summoned a light blanket and tucked it around her, feeling protective of his witch.

-o0o-

George was surprised to see his younger brother in the shop, but greeted him with a grin.

"Ronnikins, how are you? And my lovely sister-in-law? All well?" he asked with emphasis on his last inquiry.

"Yes, but I wondered if maybe we could catch a pint after work?" Ron asked, looking a bit distracted.

"Yeah, sure. Leaky or Hog's Head?" George asked. Ron seemed in a hurry, and a bit secretive.

"Hog's Head will do. Meet you round six?" Ron began to move toward the front door.

"Yeah, six is fine," George said, and then after a brief hesitation called after him. "Ron, really? Anything to be concerned about?"

"No," Ron called back, "just a favour to ask."

George was left to ponder that for the next few hours. Something about Ron's demeanour had struck him as a bit odd, but in the absence of anything conclusive, he had to assume that Hermione and the baby were well enough. Ron hadn't seemed distraught, anyway. George had tried to tread carefully, knowing that this was something Ron and Hermione had wanted to keep private. He'd been very involved at the beginning, but had stepped back a bit since then; true, he was busy with the shop, catching up after some of the time spent on the potion and the time away on their holiday. He had returned to the store still pretty drained, magically. He could manage every day tasks, but for the first two months had found it difficult to cast some of the more complex charms or perform the advanced transfiguration he usually did. Fortunately, it was well-stocked enough and a slow-enough time of the year that he could manage. But the exhaustion wasn't the only reason, and he knew it.

George didn't want to insert himself too much, to assume a role that wasn't his. He'd grown extremely close to Ron and to Hermione – how not after what they had done together? What happened next though, he wasn't sure. He hadn't really been present or sober for the pregnancies of his sister or sister-in-laws, and had only been the wild, mad uncle at family gatherings, never particularly close with any of his nieces or nephews. The experience of helping to conceive this child, er, as it were, and perhaps the growing closeness with Luna as well, if he were being entirely honest, made him want to know what was happening with this child, made him wish to be present. That was not something he would insist on; if Ron or Hermione needed or wanted him, though, he was there. His thoughts circled on this topic for some time, until he was ready to close down the shop and apparate to Scotland.

As before, Ron was ahead of him and waiting in the far booth, a pint already before him. George called a greeting and order to Aberforth and slipped across from his younger brother.

"Hello, Ron. Tell me how you and Hermione are."

Ron ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "Oh, hanging in, I suppose. It's been a bit more difficult than either of us quite expected, if I'm honest."

"What d'you mean? Thanks, Abe," George added to the barkeep.

"Physically, it's been harder on her. I told you about the morning sickness. That only really went away in the past ten days or so, but there were pockets here and there when she was able to eat. Course, that just drove her bloody mental; made her terrified that the baby had died or something. Penny's been out to our cottage twice now to check her, even after increasing her appointments. Doesn't help that we're right at the point where she lost the other one. That's really eating at her."

"Poor Hermione. It must be hard on her. And you, for that matter," George offered softly.

"Yeah, a bit. It's just so frustrating not to be able to help at all, y'know? I mean, I do what I can, but I can't really make it easier or do anything that makes her believe this will be different."

"Nothing can convince her of that but time. I expect, though, you'll find that once she's past this point, she'll begin to feel better. A bit more hopeful maybe. Probably be easier once she can feel the baby move too, y'know?"

"That's what Penny's said to me as well, but she's got Hermione on a calming draught every other day because she gets so worked up." Ron grimaced.

"Well, how can I help then?" George went straight to the point.

"I don't think you can, really, but thanks," Ron said with some surprise.

"Then what do you need? You said you needed a favour," George reminded him before taking a long pull from his tankard.

"Oh, right. Well it's just that the timing has turned out terribly. Hermione's got an appoint the day after tomorrow. It's scheduled for just after the point at which she lost the other baby, so she's a bit of a wreck. Only, we've had a break today in the case I've been working and I've got to go tomorrow. I'll be on assignment for a few days at the least, a week at the most. You're the only person besides Penny who knows about the baby, and I really, really don't want Hermione to be alone, just in case."

"You want me to stay with her?" George asked, in some confusion.

"What? Oh, not so much stay with her, but go to the appointment with her. I'll just feel better, and Hermione would to, if you could be there with her."

"Is that all?" George grinned. "Of course I'll go. Love to. After all, I need to have some idea what I'm working with if I'm going to pick out just the right name."

Ron groaned. "You're not still on about that, are you? Hermione will never go for it; she looks ready to hex me any time names come up."

"Oh, I'll convince her, never fear," George said with a smirk. "And little Hercules will appreciate how creative his favourite uncle is."

"Whatever you say, George. If you can actually convince her, then have at it," Ron said, shaking his head.

-o0o-

"Really, George, I appreciate you coming along, but you are making more nervous. Please be still. This is hard enough as it is," Hermione snapped at her brother-in-law, who was pacing the examination room, unable to sit calmly.

"Right," he said sheepishly. "So what is going to happen exactly? I mean I know I've seen you naked before, but I was more than a bit out of it at the time, and lovely a creature as you are, dear, I think I'd rather let that be a one-off."

Hermione gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes, but before she could let loose the scathing response, the door opened and she felt her throat closing with fear as their sister-in-law Penelope stepped into the room, and stopped short, looking confused.

"Hermione? And . . . George?"

"Ron's been called out on assignment," George explained quickly. "He and Hermione have told me about their previous history and he didn't want Hermione to be alone, so I volunteered."

Hermione seemed to be rendered mute by Penelope's official presence in the room, but nodded, and the confusion cleared from Penelope's face and she briskly took out her wand and gently pushed Hermione back onto the exam table, and dimmed the lights.

"Right, well, let's not create any more suspense. We can get the particulars after if all is well. George, why don't you step over here, and just take Hermione's hand, all right? Ready, Hermione?"

Hermione could feel tears pricking her eyes, and her breathing was far more rapid and shallow than usual, but she needed to know. The anxiety had taken a real toll on her, and Ron had been as supportive as possible, but without his soothing presence in the last two days, her mind had been spinning nearly non-stop with all sorts of horrible scenarios. The first scans had been fine, but this was just past the time when Hermione had lost the last baby, and she felt certain that once again her body would have failed her, though there had been no signs of trouble and she'd felt robustly healthy. She was grateful for George's hand clinging tightly to hers as Penelope cast the spell.

A projection filled the area above Hermione's abdomen, and there, clear as could be, was a tiny fetus, wriggling away. A sob caught in Hermione's throat, and George held her hand even more tightly, feeling relief sweep over him, followed by awe as he watched the baby move in the projection. A smile could be heard in Penelope's voice when she finally spoke.

"Everything looks perfect, Hermione. Baby is right on target, nearing fifteen weeks. Placental size looks good, placement is wonderful. You should be starting to feel some kicks soon from this little one. Organ development appears on target, and your cervix remains nice and long and closed. A perfectly normal, healthy pregnancy."

"Thank you," Hermione managed to choke out, still mesmerized by the image she was watching.

"No thanks to me, mummy, you are doing all the hard work," Penelope said with a chuckle. "Well then, we're far enough along I can cast a revealing spell to determine the sex if you'd like to know. It's still early to see on the projections for wizards without healing training, but I'll be able to tell."

"Maybe you should wait for Ron to be here," George offered, though he was burning with curiosity.

"No, I want to know. We aren't telling anyone though, George, so you'd better keep it to yourself," she said warningly. "And don't even think of starting a rigged betting pool!"

"Hey, why aren't you telling Penny that?" he asked indignantly.

"Because I'm a healer, George. I can't tell anyone. Binding oath, remember?" she said with a laugh. "If you're sure then. It will take me a moment."

She whispered an incantation, and the image of the projection shifted, giving them a different view, but as Penelope had warned, neither Hermione nor George could make it out. Hermione's heart was still beating fast, but she was feeling more calm now as she continued to revel in the projection, to see her child before her.

"Aha, got it. You are having a daughter, Hermione," Penelope said brightly, and it seemed the dam had broken, as tears were falling from Hermione's eyes, to George's consternation.

"A daughter? It's a girl?" she repeated.

"Yes, a girl. And very healthy by the looks of it. We'll continue to monitor every two weeks, but things look absolutely perfect. Do you think you'll be telling the family soon?" Penelope cancelled the projection and the lights resumed full power. She helped Hermione sit up and eyed her swelling abdomen. "I think you and Ron had better discuss that soon, because I don't think you'll be able to hide that increase from Molly much longer."

"Oh, you might be surprised what concealment charms can manage," Hermione said with a smile. "But I think maybe soon. It's a bit frightening, to be honest."

"Hmmm, leave it to me, Hermione. I can probably come up with something good," George said, a sly smirk crossing his face.

"Oh no, I don't think so. We'll probably just share at a family dinner soon. What else do you need, Penny?" Penelope seated herself and began asking her questions, which Hermione answered quickly. Fifteen minutes later, with a reminder to eat regularly, George and Hermione were on their way out.

George's hands were thrust into his pockets, and he was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked side by side, until he suddenly turned and asked in a voice more intense than usual, "Going back to work or can I take you out to lunch?"

Surprised, Hermione replied, "Took the day off. I was so worried I couldn't concentrate and I was afraid I'd need the afternoon. Lunch would be lovely, where did you have in mind?"

"There's a really nice place in London, muggle side, I like to go now and then. You can't travel by apparition right now, can you? It'll take a bit to work our way there the muggle way."

"It's fine, I'm not starving yet," she assured him, and she followed him out into the department store that hid the entrance to the magical hospital from muggles. George checked that he had enough cash on him and then hailed a cab, solicitously helping Hermione inside and giving the name of a place Hermione was unfamiliar with. Otherwise, they were quiet; George subtly watching the hand Hermione unconsciously rested against the small swelling of her abdomen.

The restaurant was quiet, chic, tucked away. Hermione and George were ushered into a private, comfortable booth near the back, and they sat opposite each other, fiddling with the menus. Hermione's appetite was making a vengeful appearance after being suppressed by two days of stress, and George watched with amusement as she ordered a meal large enough for the both of them, and settled himself for a salad and soup.

"What're you thinking, Georgie?" Hermione asked softly, once they were alone again.

"That I'm very, very glad this has worked for you, Hermione. I can't quite believe that that little human-looking thing I saw wriggling around is actually wriggling inside you right now." There was a look of wonder on his face, and Hermione beamed at him.

"It is hard to believe. Thank you for coming with me. If it had been bad news, I would've needed someone there. And I'm so glad you've gotten to see this, since you've been there from the beginning."

"Quite literally," he drawled, giving her a lascivious wink that made her scowl at him. "In seriousness though, Hermione, that was really amazing, and I'm grateful you asked me to be there."

"George, we, Ron and I, I mean, we are the grateful ones. This wouldn't be possible without you. You did this, you made this happen. There aren't words to express my gratitude," Hermione said, feeling tears form in her eyes again.

George had to clear his throat, but when he spoke, his words were as mischievous as ever. "Sure there are, Hermione. They go like this; George, we are so grateful, we are honouring the deal Ron made, and you can name the baby. Not difficult at all."

Hermione groaned, but there was a soft look in her eyes when she said, "Fine, I give in. George, you can name the baby. But I retain veto power, so don't even think about something inappropriate."

"Georgiana it is, then," he said with a chuckle as the food arrived and Hermione glared at him.

-o0o-

The pride was evident on Ron's glowing face when he made the announcement to the Weasley family three weeks later. Hermione had to bite her lip to keep back the words of warning, of caution, of fear as a shout went up around the table, and Hermione was nearly tackled by Molly Weasley, who was laughing and shouting "I knew it! I knew you had to be expecting, didn't I say so Arthur? Oh dear, this is wonderful news!"

Penelope smiled knowingly at Hermione, as Fleur scolded her for keeping it a secret for so long, and Ginny, her own prominent belly preventing a direct hug, wrapped her arm around Hermione in excitement. Harry was teasing Ron about his ability to keep the secret for so long, as Bill and Percy began offering up advice on keeping a pregnant witch happy and congratulating their little brother. George just watched the commotion with a smile, Luna nestled serenely beside him.

"You did very well helping them, George," she said quietly, her wide eyes glowing with affection for him.

"How did you know?" he asked ruefully, not bothering to deny it.

"The nurffling dingnobs, of course," she said with a serious face that dissolved into laughter at his dubious look. "I pieced together some of it when you were brewing that potion and Hermione was popping over all the time, and then you were gone the same weekend they were. It seemed rather dangerous, but I'm glad it worked. Hermione seems much happier, doesn't she?"

"And that makes Ron happy," he agreed, and heard his mother's excited voice through the babble.

"Do you know if it's a boy or girl, dear?"

"Oh, we thought it would be nice to have a surprise," Hermione said smoothly, and George smirked at her, and felt Penelope kick him under the table.

"And names? Have you got any chosen yet?" Molly asked eagerly.

Hermione sent a malicious glare at George, and smiled sweetly at Molly and said, "Not yet, no."

"I think you ought to consider Agatha for a girl," George volunteered, an angelically innocent look on his face. "Perhaps Oliver for a boy, though it's rather plain. I've always liked names with more distinction, myself. Like Helvetica or Aeros."

Ron frowned at his brother and shot a guilty look at his wife, but the room at large was still discussing name choices, which turned talk once again to Harry and Ginny, who had refused to announce their name choice for the boy that was due to arrive any day now. Hermione sat back from this conversation, Ron's arm snugly wrapped around her shoulders, and a hand on the gentle bump of her belly, and as she observed contentedly, feeling a part of this gentle teasing rather than hurt by it, she felt a strange tapping sensation beneath where her hand was resting, rather like what she imagine popcorn popping to feel like. She went very still, and stared down, and felt it again, a gentle thing, just enough to catch her awareness, to let her know that the life inside her was strong and present.

Hermione wondered whether an excess of happiness was something that ought to concern her, whether she were tempting the fates to relax and simply enjoy this feeling.

-o0o-

_A/N - One more chapter left, expected to post shortly. Hope you enjoy this; cheers!_


	5. Chapter 5

-o0o-

"_Hope is the thing with feathers  
>That perches in the soul,<br>And sings the tune-without the words,  
>And never stops at all,"<em>

-Emily Dickinson

-o0o-

Ron was content; Hermione practically glowed. Even the swollen fingers and ankles, and the enforced reduction in activities wasn't enough to dim the joy that radiated from her. He knew she still fretted, and he knew that every scan was fraught with fear and laced with tension, but they were nearing delivery now and had every reason to be optimistic. The pregnancy had continued as normally as possible. Hermione grew wider and rounder, and her illness subsided. Her energy returned and the reassurance of the baby's kicks and jabs were amusing to everyone to witness, as her entire belly regularly moved with the actions of the child within. The calls to Penny became less frantic, though there were still two or three scares when Hermione felt the baby was moving less frequently or just had that impending sense that something might be wrong.

She never felt wholly convinced that there wouldn't be some sort of horror or tragedy, but resolved in as much as possible to simply enjoy the remainder of her pregnancy and the time with her baby. The likelihood that she would ever be pregnant again was slim, and for that reason alone she wanted to do her best to embrace the experience, to hold to the hope of good things to come. Even so, she procrastinated on several baby-related fronts, to Molly's horror and general confusion given her well-known planning nature. There was still no name selected, no nursery prepared, only a handful of nappies, blankets and clothes as Hermione entered the end of her pregnancy. She had steadfastly refused any showers or parties, saying she'd rather wait until the baby was born and they knew for certain what they needed. In reality, Hermione could not stand the thought of one more item being purchased and sitting in a room that may never be used for the child that was curled within her. Ron backed her up, shrugging off her behaviour and defending it to the more persistent among his family. However, by Hermione's thirty-ninth week of pregnancy, Ron was insistent that the nursery be prepared.

Given that the baby should arrive within the next three weeks, Hermione had finally acknowledged Ron's wisdom and allowed him to get to work organizing the third bedroom conversion to nursery. She didn't watch; that was too difficult for her even now. But she had consulted with him on colours (they'd settled on a soft green to go with the white furniture), and told him where she wanted him to set up the cot and the rocking chair. While Ron put everything in order, hanging the framed prints of Babbity Rabbity and some Muggle rabbit that Hermione called Peter Cottontail, Hermione rubbed her aching back and rearranged herself on the couch.

She'd woken feeling a bit off, and was finding herself increasingly uncomfortable as the day wore on. It was irritating to feel so uncomfortable, but Hermione tried to focus on the shifting baby thumping merrily away at her rib cage. "Hey little one, no need to practise your footballer skills on me, you know. Plenty of time for that later on," she crooned to her belly, half-smiling despite her discomfort.

"Football? It's utterly boring, darling. You know she'll be on a broomstick by the time she's three anyway, best to accept her Quidditch destiny now, love," Ron teased as he kissed her forehead in passing.

"Are you done so quickly?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Merlin's bollocks, Hermione! I am a wizard of no mean skill when I want to be," Ron called from the kitchen. "You already folded all the nappies and clothes and things, I just had to levitate them. The frames only needed a sticking charm and George helped me piece all that furniture together yesterday while you were at Penny and Percy's."

"Oh," said Hermione, a bit stupidly, "of course that wouldn't take long. Thanks for handling it all."

"Happy to, love," he replied. "Can I get you anything while I'm in here? You didn't eat much at lunch, y'know."

"Just something to drink, please. I'm just not hungry," she replied. The discomfort she'd been feeling was leaving her restless and a bit anxious.

"There you are, Hermione," Ron said, handing her a glass filled with pumpkin juice. "How're you feeling?"

"I simply cannot get comfortable," she said. "Of course, Penny warned me the last bit was probably the hardest physically, but my back is just aching."

"You want a pain potion?" he suggested, a frown marring his face, as Hermione shifted again, trying to rearrange the pillows that were propping her ungainly body into a sitting position.

"You _know_ I can't have one, Ron," she said sharply, before sighing. "I'm sorry, Ron, it was rude of me to snap at you. I think I'm just feeling fretful. You've been really attentive, I appreciate it."

Ron leaned down to kiss her forehead again, and lovingly brush her hair out of her eyes. "You're my wife, sweets, it's my job to try to keep you comfortable and happy. Are you sure you don't mind me going out tonight?"

In truth, Hermione had been in favour of the plan initially; the Auror division were rotating through night raids at present, following up on promising leads about the new rumours of dark rituals and secret gatherings. If Ron got his share out of the way early, it would keep him free to stick to paperwork after next week, and Penelope had said it didn't look like the baby was showing signs of coming earlier than her due date. Now, however, she was regretting her rash agreement, even if this were to be the final night. Afraid of appearing even more petulant, she forced a smile.

"Of course not. I'll have you all to myself after tonight, so it's better you go and get this finished. It's not as though I can't care for myself for a single night, after all," she said stoutly.

Her husband looked carefully at her, with that intense probing gaze he used most often during a chess match, and she knew that he had seen through her ploy. Grunting non-commitally, he said in a soft, persuasive voice, "Course you can care for yourself, but I think I'll feel better if someone stays with you anyhow. I know how tiresome it is for you to have to get up from the couch anytime you want something."

"I can summon what I want, Ron," she chided.

"But you never do, Hermione," he responded. "Really, I can see if Mum or Fleur could come over."

"Oh, no," Hermione said hastily. "No, your mum insists that I eat more than I could possibly stand and badgers me about whether baby is a girl or boy and Fleur is lovely, but she will go on and on about her labours and births of Dominique and Victoire, and I don't feel up to either of them."

"Well, Ginny's got the babies, and Penny's working and you know how Percy feels about disrupting Molly's schedule," Ron said with a roll of his eyes. "George could probably come over if he and Luna don't have plans."

"I don't mind George, but I hate to disturb him. You can ask, but really, Ron, I'll be fine on my own," Hermione said in resignation and some relief. "Please tell him I'll be fine on my own and he is under no obligation to come, especially if he's got plans with Luna!" she called to her husband's retreating back.

Not five minutes later, a beaming George was dusting soot from the floo off his work robes and kissing Hermione on the cheek while Ron went to get dressed for his night's work.

"Hullo, Hermione, you look radiant as ever," he said cheerfully, "and how is my little Mathilda doing in there today?" George teased her with names every single time he saw her, and she dreaded a bit what he would finally select.

"Mathilda's not half as bad as some of the others, but I don't love it," Hermione said.

George gasped theatrically. "Don't you let my favourite niece hear such things! I'm sure you'll love Annelise to bits once she's here, Hermione, don't worry."

"You are too much George. Ron did tell you that I can stay on my own, didn't he? You know I was just fine last week both nights he was gone. Don't feel you have to stay if you had plans," she said, again shifting to try find a position that might relieve the pressure in her back, which just seemed to get worse as the day progressed.

"Yes, but he also told me you aren't feeling well. Luna will bring over some supper in a bit, if you don't mind some extra company, and some proper night clothes for me and we'll just make certain you don't need to be troubled for anything."

"I don't want to be an imposition," Hermione murmured.

"It's no imposition on us, Hermione, and I intend to impose on you by having obnoxiously loud sex in your guest room, just to annoy you," George said with as innocent a grin as he could manage.

"Delightful," she said drily, as Ron joined them, decked out in his official robes, rucksack loosely slung over his shoulder.

"Thanks for coming George. I know you'll be fine, Hermione, but I'll focus better knowing you are safe, yeah? Tell that little one to behave, and I'll see you tomorrow morning. You know how to contact me if you need to do." Ron squeezed her hand lovingly in his and then was gone.

Hermione shifted again, feeling a wave of pressure ripple through her back, wincing slightly. George noticed and lifted an eyebrow in question, and she tried to smile, though it looked more like a grimace.

"I've been sitting too long, is all. Can you help me up? Walking for a bit will help loosen up my back," she explained. George stood and extended his hands and with a grunt of effort, Hermione lumbered to her feet, only to feel a pain surround her entire abdomen as her uterus tightened. She frowned and rested her hand along her protruding belly.

"You all right there, Granger?" George asked, with some concern.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just a cramp, nothing terrible. I'm just going to go to the loo, if you'll excuse me," she said, waddling down the hall.

-o0o-

Hermione was grateful for Luna's presence, because the dreamy, calm witch seemed to soothe the tension that had arisen between Hermione and George. She was feeling worse than she had earlier, the walk around the cottage had not loosened her back and the cramping and tightening continued to wear at her. George hovered and seemed concerned, asking until Hermione had snapped at him whether or not he should consult Penny. Luna's serenity was settling to her, and she even ate more of the nourishing supper of chicken and creamed peas, and a fresh apricot pie, than she'd quite felt up to earlier.

George watched her uncertainly as the evening wore on, and Hermione felt tired and edgy at the same time, unable to settle into any particular activity with any equanimity. Eventually, Luna offered, in her dreamy voice, to read to her, and Hermione accepted her offer, trying situate her ungainly bulk so that her back was as cushioned as possible. Luna selected one of Hermione's favourite muggle books and she closed her eyes as the melodious rhythm flowed over her. The aching subsided some, and for the first time since Ron left, she seemed relaxed. Twenty minutes passed before George noticed that Hermione had fallen asleep. Gently, he alerted Luna, who stopped reading, and helped George levitate Hermione to her bedroom. They lowered her to the bed, and George softly covered her with the afghan that rested at the foot of the bed.

"She seems to be worn out, poor girl," he whispered to Luna. "I think she's bothered more by Ron being gone than she'd care to admit."

"Well, it is rather dangerous, what they're doing, isn't it? It can't really be comfortable to be in labour and thinking that your baby's father may be in danger, though from what I can tell labour isn't terribly comfortable anyhow," Luna said replied placidly.

George looked startled. "What do you mean in labour?" His voice was urgent.

Luna blinked in surprise. "I thought it was rather obvious. She's been wincing in contractions all evening."

"Don't we need to get to St. Mungo's then?" he asked a little wildly.

"Goodness, I shouldn't think so. These things can take hours, you know George. She'll tell us when she's ready to go, if she's even planning to deliver there. Most witches don't you know, and I'm sure Penelope wouldn't mind coming out here. If she can get some sleep now, it's probably best. Come on, we'll just let her rest, and find other ways to entertain ourselves, shall we?" Luna gave him a mischievous look and glided towards the guest bedroom. George stood outside Hermione's door for a moment, torn between wanting to wake her and ask if she were in labour and following Luna. Eventually Luna won out, if only because he remembered the entire Weasley clan sleeping in the waiting room at St. Mungo's during Fleur's thirty hour labor with Dominique, and how they'd all wished they'd been called a bit later in the event.

Still, he was certain to leave the doors open so that he could hear more easily should Hermione require anything. Just to be safe.

-o0o-

Hermione's sleep was fitful and disturbed by dreams of crashing waves, pulling painfully at her, trying to pull her back to the sea, but she could see Ron up ahead on the shore waving to her, and she kept trying desperately to swim to him. A particularly large wave washed over her, tugging her back and sinking her under the water for a moment, and after a few seconds of holding her breath, Hermione awoke, startled into gasping for air. At that moment of confusion, caught between sleeping and awareness, she grumbled to herself that everything felt so wet. As she grew more conscious of her surroundings, she realized that she was indeed wet, and lying in a puddle of wetness. Her amniotic sac must have ruptured during her dreams of the sea, and as her uterus tightened painfully, Hermione knew she couldn't deny what she'd been ignoring all evening; she was in fact in labour.

And Ron was not easily reachable, active in the field. Of course she could contact him, but it wasn't easy and even making contact could be dangerous, if he were in a delicate situation. Hermione pushed herself upright once the contraction had passed, grimacing at the soaked clothes and cold dampness of the clothes that clung to her. One hand holding her bulging stomach, she waddled down the hall to the guest room. George and Luna were sprawled in the bed, fast asleep. She hated to wake them, but there was no choice, so she tried gently to shake George's shoulder.

"George? Georgie? Please, wake up," she said, her voice coming out a bit higher and more anxious than she would quite have liked. She shook his shoulder harder. "George! Please, I need you to wake up!"

Groggily, he blinked up at her, and once he realized who was trying to rouse him, seemed to snap to alertness quickly. "What's wrong, Hermione? Do you need something?"

"George, my water's broken, I think I'm labour," she said, as another contraction began it's stranglehold on her lower body. She braced herself against the bed, crying out softly, trying to breathe deeply through the building pressure, releasing a sigh when it began to wane. "That was sooner than I expected another one. We really need to get call Penny, George."

"Right, of course, yes. Let me wake up Luna? Are we going to St. Mungo's or what?" he asked, swinging his legs around, looking pale in the dim light as he began searching for his trousers.

"No, we'd planned to deliver here if all is well. Penelope will come out here, if you'll floo. I'm not sure if she was on-call tonight or not, so you may have to start at Percy's," Hermione said. "I'm going to change, these clothes are wet."

"Er, right, do you need help or anything?" he asked, pausing awkwardly with his trousers halfway to being on, making her giggle.

"No I think I can make it to the bedroom, thanks," she replied drily. It was a near thing though, as the next contraction grew as she crossed the threshold of her bedroom. Placing her hands on her contracting uterus, eyes closed, Hermione swayed, breathing in slowly and exhaling slowly until the invisible fist clutching her uterus in its grasp released her. Breathing out a small sigh, Hermione, undressed, piling the wet clothing with her bedding, using magic to strip the bed and banish the lot to her laundry room. She pulled on a clean nightdress that felt voluminous, and was on the point of summoning fresh sheets when stopped by the next labour pain. This time, she sat down and gripped the mattress as she tried to breathe slowly through the wave of pain.

George waited respectfully until it passed before speaking from her doorway. "Hermione, I floo'd Percy, and he's roused Penny. She's on her way. Are you certain you wouldn't rather be at St. Mungo's?"

"Quite certain, yes, George. Their maternity ward is very small, meant for really difficult cases. Penny is a fully trained healer, and you know perfectly well that most witches do perfectly well giving birth at home. Could you please help me make the bed?" she said patiently as possible.

George wouldn't allow her to do it, but was perfectly competent to change the sheets. Luna appeared, offering Hermione water or tea, hovering placidly nearby. Fifteen minutes and three or four contractions more passed with little conversation, Hermione bracing herself against the door frame and continuing her slow breathing, though she had to admit that it didn't seem to make any in-roads on the pain. George was pacing nervously in the hallway, Luna smiling serenely, when the healer made her appearance.

Penny looked cheerful, taking in the appearance of her brother-in-law and his girlfriend and the absence of Hermione's husband without comment. "Oh goodness, Hermione, tonight of all nights, eh?" she clucked. "Have you contacted Ronald yet?"

Hermione shook her head, but was prevented responding by another contraction. George frowned as Hermione made a low keening sound. Penelope merely observed, discreetly timing the length of the pain, noting the time of occurrence.

"No," Hermione said a bit breathlessly, when it had passed; they were getting stronger and closer together. "I didn't want to disturb him if it were false labour, and it could be dangerous to contact him before four in the morning."

"Well, let's just have a moment of privacy. You can bring me up to speed as I examine you. You'll be able to come back in shortly, thanks, George," Penelope said firmly, shooing him out and shutting the door behind her. Hermione laid back on the bed as Penny conducted her examination, noting the shortening time-frame between contractions and and growing intensity of them, informing Hermione that she was currently about five centimetres dilated. She inquired about Hermione's pain level, and offered her a short-lived numbing spell, which Hermione declined.

"You seem to be making good progress, but we've got some time ahead of us yet. You said we can contact Ron at four in the morning? Excellent. I'd say there is a good chance he can be here for the birth. I'll just let George and Luna back in, then," Penny said briskly, opening the door.

George was there immediately, hovering anxiously and awkwardly by the bed as Hermione shifted to sit up more comfortably. "Hermione, you doing all right there?"

"It's not the most comfortable experience I've ever had," she said, a glimmer of humour in her eyes, "but well enough, all considered. I'm sorry to have woken you and be keeping you up."

George snorted. "It's fine. Is there anything I can do that might be more useful than pacing the floor?"

Hermione hesitated a bit, but as she could feel the next wave of pain gathering, she reached out for his hand, and squeezed it as she breathed through the contraction. "Just that for now," she gasped out as the pain faded. "Merlin, that hurts."

George looked concerned until she opened her eyes again. "You, uh, going to be all right there?"

Hermione chuckled a bit. "Yes, I expect so. No need to look like a scared rabbit, Georgie. Your mum went through this six times with minimal ill effects, or so I'm told."

"Have you contacted Ron?" George asked. "Not that I don't adore you, Granger, but I rather think your husband a better substitute in this particular situation. And just about only this situation, for the record."

"Though this wouldn't be possible without your assistance in the beginning?" Hermione teased gently.

George's cheeks and ear flushed suddenly, even as he laughed. "Best not say that too loudly, or people will get entirely the wrong idea. Great Merlin, my mum was right, and I have been a bad influence on you. Mind, it took years longer than she predicted, but still."

"Where is Luna?" Hermione asked, again beginning to shift with the onset of another contraction. George respectfully waited until it passed and Hermione's eyes were opened again before responding.

"She went to get some tea. Didn't want to impose, she said. Will you contact Ron?" he asked more seriously. "I've noticed things don't seem to be slowing down, and Ron would be upset to miss the birth of little Georgette."

Hermione's lips pursed, and she frowned. "What he's doing shouldn't be interrupted if it can be helped. Even our secure methods of communication could come at an inopportune time. They'll break at four o'clock to check in and I'll contact him then. It's only two more hours. He should be able to break away then. I expect we'll have plenty of time."

-o0o-

Two hours seemed to crawl by, broken into small chunks of contractions lasting longer than a minute, with only two or three minutes between for resting. Hermione felt restless and confined sitting on the bed, and had taken to wandering throughout the cottage, George ever present at her side, holding her hands or supporting her as she stopped and leaned on him or squeezed him through each contraction. There was no pretense of slow breathing now, Hermione moaned through each pain, rocking or swaying, all under Penelope's watchful observance. Luna glided quietly through, making soothing noises, rubbing at Hermione's back during the contractions, helping George support her when necessary.

Four o'clock chimed and Hermione shakily drew out her wand, conjuring her Patronus and whispering a short message, before sitting on the edge of couch. "There," she said tiredly. "If he can get away at all, he will be here in the hour. Merlin, I want him to get here. This feels as if it's getting faster."

"It is Hermione. I ought to check you again," Penelope said quietly.

Hermione grimaced, but consented to return to her bed, where Penny pronounced her nearing transition at seven centimeters dilation, and suggested she consider a shower or bath to help manage the pain. Hermione declined, however.

"It just doesn't feel right," she said before being interrupted by another blasted contraction. She panted through it, moaning at the peak of the contraction. When she next spoke, she sounded fretful. "Penny, I'm just getting so tired. I haven't slept much, and this is just so exhausting."

"I know, Hermione, dear," Penny said soothingly. "It's hard work, and it is tiring. You know I can do a numbing spell at any point before you begin pushing. It might help you sleep, even."

"I don't know," Hermione said fretfully. "It's not even that it hurts. It's just that I feel as if I've been up for hours and hours without rest."

"Well, you're simply at a point where rest will be hard to come by, but it's up to you, of course. You've done really well so far, and you can do this, Hermione," Penny said encouragingly.

"I just want to keep walking," she finally said. "I can't sit here, I start to worry over Ron. Right, let's try that, then," Hermione said with some determination, though progress was slowed by another contraction that left her grimacing. With Penny's help, she slowly made her way out to the lounge and into the kitchen, where Luna was sitting at the table, a cup of tea before her.

"There is more tea ready, if you'd like some," she said in her ethereal voice. "I'd be happy to make something else. I'm quite good at cooking, but rather inexperienced with births, I'm afraid."

"You've been wonderful," Hermione said honestly. "Where is George?"

"Loo, back in a minute," Luna replied calmly. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, not hungry just at present," Hermione said as another strong contraction began. She doubled over, clutching at the table, and whimpered.

"Luna," Penny said quietly, "she'll probably be ravenous once the baby's arrived. Do you think you could make a casserole or something that can easily be kept warm?"

"Yes, of course. It's too bad I haven't got any plimpies here, though. Daddy always said they were especially beneficial for new mothers," Luna commented idly as she began drifting towards the charmed ice box to assess her options.

"Hermione, how are you doing?" came George's quiet voice from behind her.

"Miserable, actually," she said with a tight half-smile. "I sent a message awhile ago."

"Do you want to keep walking?" George offered his arm.

"Could we go into the garden? I'm feeling a bit tired of walking about the house," Hermione said.

"Penelope? Is that safe?" George asked cautiously.

Penny laughed lightly. "Of course, if that is what she would like to do. I'll be right behind you."

So George helped Hermione out to the garden, and they slowly walked up and down the worn path, stopping more and more frequently, so Hermione could lean against George as she was overswept by a wave of pain dragging at her, pulling at her. She did her best not to cry out loudly, but it was growing increasingly harder as the contractions seemed to draw ever closer, following hard on one another. Time passed, very slowly, measured only by where Hermione was in a grip of a contraction. She did her best to remain calm, to stay collected, but the more time that passed without a message from Ron, without the tell-tale crack of apparition or flaming of the Floo, the more worried she began to grow.

After a particularly long and painful contraction that left Hermione fighting back tears, she clung to George even after it had passed, gripping his soft shirt and said in a trembling, fretful voice, "Where is he, George? I want Ron. I want him here."

"I know, love," George said soothingly, rubbing her back comfortingly. "I know you do. He'll be here soon, I'm sure."

"He is supposed to be here, George," she said, beginning to cry. "I want Ron here. Not you."

"I know, I'm sorry," George said, feeling a bit helpless, and then Penny was there, an arm around Hermione's shoulders.

"C'mon Hermione, I think it's time we go back in and check you again."

"I don't want to!" she cried. "I want to wait here, Ron will be here soon."

"Yes, I know, but we need to see how far you've come, because I think you are getting closer," she said in a calm but firm voice. Turning slightly to George, she added in a low voice, "Women always get a bit testy as they get closer to the end."

Firmly, she turned Hermione towards the house and guided her back inside. Three contractions passed before they made it to her room. Under Penny's instruction, Hermione allowed herself to be checked again, and was horrified to hear Penny announce that she was definitely nine centimetres.

"No, I can't be. Penny, I can't. Ron's not here. I won't do this without him," she said frantically.

"It's been about an hour and a half since you sent your message," Penny said practically. It's very likely that he's he on his way and will be here any moment. I'd slow things down a bit if I could, but I can't, Hermione. You're still at a minus one station, so we've got a ways to go before baby is in good position to start pushing, and you're not even fully dilated yet."

"Where is he?" Hermione fretted. "I'm so tired."

George knocked on the bedroom door, and called out, "Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?"

"Do you want George to try contacting someone?"

"There is no one to contact right now," Hermione said, biting her lip. "Gods, this hurts, Penny."

"I know, I'm sorry. I can still give you a mild numbing spell that would help."

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I don't want that. I just want Ron."

"Ladies?" George called out again.

"Best let him in," Hermione said wearily, and Penny opened the door.

"Nothing particular needed. We're getting much closer, though still some time left," Penny said, the strain and worry beginning to show in the frown she couldn't quite hide. "D'you mind sitting with her for a bit while I use the loo and get a few things ready to go?"

"Course not, if Hermione doesn't mind," George said heartily.

"Fine by me," Hermione said, laying on her side, curling up around her belly, and holding it as another contraction built. "Tell me he'll be ok, George, tell me he's all right."

"He's fine, love, just a bit out of touch. He'll be here any moment, I'm sure," George said soothingly. Hermione's only response was to moan.

"I feel like I'm going to vomit. Why is it so hot in here?" Hermione said suddenly.

"Can I get you cool cloth?" George asked uncertainly? "A cooling charm?"

"Yes, please," Hermione said shortly, trying to breathe through the pain and nausea, nearly panting.

George quickly performed a charm, and retrieved a wash-cloth and made it cool and laid it on the back of her neck, and rubbed her shoulders lightly.

"Thank you," she said, quiet and subdued.

"Hanging in?" he asked quietly. "You're doing brilliantly."

"I want Ron," she said, a tear leaking down her cheek.

At that moment, there was a crashing sound in the kitchen, and they could hear frantic footsteps thundering through the cottage.

"Hermione? Hermione!" Ron called in a frantic voice.

"Ron? Bedroom!" she yelled back, hope and relief lighting her face.

"Are you all right? Is the baby here? I haven't missed it, have I?" he asked, skidding into the room.

"Oh, Merlin, Ron, you stink," George said, less than tactfully.

Indeed, Ron was absolutely filthy, hair plastered to his head with what looked like mud, robes soaked through, a cut still open on his face, scratches all over his hands, and looking completely terrified. He tried to catch his breath as Hermione moaned through another contraction.

"Ronald, goodness, what an entrance," Penelope said, startled, her arms filled with linens and other sorts of soft items she'd retrieved in preparation for birth. "Right, as you see, labour still in progress, though we're nearing the end. You need to shower, now, and then I'll heal those cuts and scrapes. You are not allowed near Hermione until that happens."

"You're all right?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Yes, I'm sorry it took so long. There was -" Ron began.

"Shower, now!" Penny snapped. "Whatever the hell you were dragged through cannot be sanitary. Go!"

Ron went, without further argument. Penny began setting up her armful of things, which George saw included tiny clothes and nappies and a yellow blanket, and it really hit him that this child would be born soon. This tiny being that would not have been conceived without his intervention. His vision grew swimmy before he blinked away the sudden tears.

"Right, Hermione, since Ron is about, it's probably best that Luna and I -" he started to say.

"No, you can't leave!" Hermione said, and she sounded equally panicked as she had when Ron was missing in action.

"We're just underfoot. We'll be out of the way and you can floo once she's here and you've had a chance to rest," he said reasonably.

"No, you can't, George," she said, and when Penelope popped out of the room to retrieve her medical bag from the kitchen so she could tend Ron's wounds, Hermione said in a quick, low voice, "George, you've been here from the beginning. You can't leave now, or something will go wrong, I know it. Please, George, please."

"Right, ok, I'll stay. But when you start pushing, I'm headed to the kitchen, because there is no way I'm letting that image enter my head. There aren't enough galleons in Gringott's to induce me to watch the birth, Hermione," he said.

Hermione smiled. "Thank you. You can call your mum when she's born."

Ron joined them then, clean and fresh, and sat on the bed gingerly beside his wife. "You all right?"

"Yes. This isn't really much fun," Hermione said, a tender look on her face, which changed to a grimace as she was gripped by another contraction.

"Hermione?" Ron asked with concern, holding her hand, brushing her hair. After thirty second or so, he seemed to be more concerned. "Where's Penny? Is it normal for it to on this long?"

"Yeah, they've been about ninety second or so for awhile now. She's mostly been walking about, though she wasn't feeling well just before you got in. Coming really close together at this point," George volunteered from the door.

"It's ok, Ron, really," Hermione said, breathing a sigh of relief. "I'm just so glad you are here. I was so afraid you wouldn't make it, that something was wrong."

"I know. Bugger all, it was a complete cock-up tonight. We were able to track down and disrupt the ritual, but that bloody idiot Matherson sneezed at the wrong moment, and it went haywire. I ended up chasing this bloke down a bloody sewer and then he apparated to Knockturn Alley, but I had a tracking charm on him."

"Oi, Ron, turn this way. I'm going to heal that," Penny said. She cast a general antiseptic charm and then with a muttered charm, the cut was closed up and well on its way to healing with only a faint scar. She did a similar process with his hands and then handed him a frothy blue potion. "Drink it all. Terribly vile, I'm afraid, but very potent. I want to make certain you haven't contracted anything that would keep you away from the baby."

"Right," Ron said, gulping it as quickly as he could. "Ugh, Penelope, that is worse than cooked socks and maggots."

"Here, Ron," George said, pulling a toffee out of his trousers pocket, and tossing it to him.

"Er, no thanks," Ron said, holding the sweet gingerly.

"For Merlin's sake, Ron," George said with some real irritation. "I'm not that big a prat and I'm not about to do that when your wife is going to give birth shortly. It's a normal Buttersworth toffee."

"George isn't so stupid as that," Hermione agreed, still fervently holding onto her husband's hand.

"Right. Thanks, mate." Ron popped it into his mouth and looked relieved when nothing happened. "So, catch me up on here. When did labour start?"

"George, you tell him," Hermione said in a strained voice, rocking a bit as the contraction built.

"Right, she was apparently having contractions all evening. Kept saying she wasn't really comfortable, kept shifting and moving around. I didn't realize it, of course, but Luna did. She fell asleep while Luna was reading aloud and came and woke me up about two o'clock saying her water had broken."

"I was dreaming that I was swimming in the ocean," Hermione grunted out. "Oh, Merlin, Penny, how much longer?"

"Not terribly much, I think. I could check you again, but even if you're dilated, you'll need to labour down a bit before you start pushing. Baby is still fairly high."

"That's my cue, then!" George said cheerfully. Luna and I will be in the kitchen. Shout if you need anything."

George left hurriedly, and gratefully accepted the tea that Luna had prepared for him and the reassuring calm her presence provided him. In the bedroom, Ron watched with undisguised concern as Hermione was checked and pronounced nearly complete. Penny said she just needed to give it a bit longer, let her body move the baby down, and Hermione nodded. She felt calm now that Ron was here, reassured that things were progressing as they ought.

And they continued to proceed apace. Ron quickly adapted to the rhythm of Hermione's contractions, found ways to try to support her, to ease the pain or help her through the contractions. They could physically see the baby moving down, could watch Hermione's stomach changing shape. Penny laid out the last of her supplies and helped guide Hermione into pushing with her contractions. It was harder than she expected, but it was also such a relief. It took a couple of tries for Hermione to find a position that felt comfortable and seemed to help, and Ron supported her as she squatted on the floor, straining and bearing down with the effort to get their daughter out. Penny gave her low encouragements, telling her about the progress she was making, though the burning sensation told Hermione more clearly than any words.

From the kitchen, Luna and George heard Hermione's moans and they heard a guttural, primal cry from her, followed moments later by the thin, thready cry of a newborn infant.

Hermione closed her eyes in relief as she listened to her daughter cry as Penny quickly examined her and tied off the umbilical cord. It didn't feel real yet, that this was her baby. She rested against Ron, as he kept up a litany of description.

"Merlin, Hermione, she's beautiful. Look how long she is, those tiny fingers. And her hair! She's got red hair, Hermione. Merlin, I'm so bloody proud of you, you are amazing. Look at her, love."

"Perfectly healthy, Mummy," Penny crowed. Here, let's get her up on your chest, just like that." Penny placed the crying infant on her mother, and Hermione felt as if this moment were poised on the edge of a dream. She was afraid to move, lest she wake to disappointment, but then Penny was draping a blanket over both of them and the baby had stopped crying, resting against the familiar sound of Hermione's heartbeat, looking around with wide, bright eyes.

"Oh, Ron," she whispered. "She's here. She's alive."

"She is," he replied, his voice thick.

"She's ours, Ron," Hermione said, tracing her finger down her daughter's soft cheek, and automatically, her cheek turned in that direction and she seemed to be working out how to form her mouth to suck.

"Just a moment, Hermione, let me deliver the placenta and then we'll try to get her feeding, all right?" Penny said, but Hermione was too busy marvelling in the perfection of her daughter's tiny hands to notice or care much what Penny was doing. "Right then. Ready for a go? Are you comfortable enough? We can move you to the bed, if you'd rather."

"Yes, please," Hermione said.

"Ok, just hand the baby over to Ron, carefully. Good, Ron, just support her head, perfect. Just keep the blanket on for now, I've got a warming charm on her." Penny gently helped Hermione to stand, and get seated on the bed where she'd set up disposable padding in preparation for birth. She situated her with pillows to assist her into the right position and then carefully transferred the baby to Hermione, who opened the top of her nightgown. Penelope carefully guided her through the mechanics of latching the baby onto her nipple and soon she was nursing successfully, in complete awe that this tiny baby at her breast was her own child. It seemed unbelievable.

"Very good, Hermione, I think you and she are naturals," Penny said proudly. "Now then. When she's done, we need to get her bathed and dressed and you will feel better for a shower as well. And some food, and then you can rest."

"I am a bit hungry," Hermione admitted. Her daughter seemed to be sated, no longer suckling, her eyes closing again as if all of this were just too much, really. Hermione couldn't help crooning, "Sweet girl, you are so tired, aren't you? Well being born is a tiring thing. Yes, darling, it's quite a transition. Look at your beautiful face. You are so amazing."

"Right, ok. We're going to hand baby to Dad, and I'm going to help you into the shower. And while you are in there, I'm going to show Ron how to bathe her, and we'll get her all dressed up and ready for visitors," Penny ordered.

The shower felt good. Hermione was sore, and unbelievably swollen, and it felt quite odd to feel her suddenly flabby, empty stomach. She wanted very much to simply be out with her baby. Even the sound of her whimpering during her short bath was difficult for Hermione to hear. She was exhausted, and needed Penny's help to climb out of the shower and get dressed. No sooner had she been helped back into bed than she reached for her baby.

Ron had bathed her, and proudly explained how he'd put her in a nappy by himself and dressed her and everything, leaving Hermione to smile, and adjust the yellow blanket to be more secure. Baby girl was fast asleep, and Hermione could not take her eyes off her. She was simply the most gorgeous infant that had ever existed, so far as Hermione or Ron could tell.

A soft knock sounded at the bedroom door, and after a questioning eyebrow from Penny was answered with a shrug from the new parents, she opened the door. George and Luna were standing uncertainly, trays of food and a pot of tea before them.

"Oh, bless you, you lovely people," Hermione said with a large smile. "Just what I needed. Come in and see her."

"A girl?" Luna asked softly, setting the tray down next to Hermione on the bed, while George passed his off to his younger brother. Both Luna and George came over to examine the sleeping newborn. "She's beautiful, Hermione. Congratulations. What is her name?"

Ron cleared his throat and said, "We thought it would be nice if her godfather picked the name. George, what do you think, eh? You willing?"

George couldn't speak for the lump that had formed in his throat. He examined the pink baby in Hermione's arms, looked at her tufts of wispy red hair, bundled in the yellow blanket and could only marvel at the perfection before him. If he dashed tears quickly away from his eyes, no one commented.

"Well, George? Don't leave us in suspense, then," Hermione prompted him in a soft voice, her face filled with fierce joy whenever her gaze lighted on her daughter.

With some difficulty, he cleared his throat and said, "Rose. Rose Elizabeth Weasley."

"Beautiful," Penelope murmured.

"It suits her well," Luna said, her head cocked to one side. "Much better than Agapanthus, George. If no one minds, I think I'm going to take a nap. Please wake me if anyone needs anything." With a kiss to Hermione's cheek and a squeeze of George's hand, Luna floated from the room.

"Hello, Rose," Ron said softly, laying a hand on the crown of her head, causing her to yawn and try to burrow a bit more into her mum's chest.

"Thank you, George," Hermione whispered, reaching out for him, taking his hand. "Rose Elizabeth it is."

"Well, this has been a great deal of excitement, hasn't it? I suggest you two eat, and I'll go floo everyone for you. Tell them you're resting on my orders, and they can all visit after lunch today," Penny said quickly, sensing that these three wanted a moment together. "You do need rest, as you've been up nearly all night. You need to eat as well, Hermione."

George squeezed her hand, and Hermione said, "Would you take her so we can eat, George? Do you mind?"

"Not at all," he said, and he sat at the foot of the bed to take his new niece in his arms and study her. "Don't tell Fleur or Bill, but I think she may be the most beautiful baby I've ever seen."

"You might be a bit biased," Ron said, "I know I am."

"You lot certain you want me to be her godfather? I mean, you know, Hermione, I'm going to give her loads of products and probably a broom far too fast for her, and teach her all sorts of disreputable things," he warned.

"George, without you, she wouldn't exist," Hermione said simply. "I'm sure we will fight any number of times over things you'll do, but there is no one else it could be."

"Well, my little Rose, d'you think we'll get on, then? It appears you will be stuck with me. But you may just be the greatest thing I've ever done, eh?" The baby shifted, opened her eyes and blinked, and managed to get a tiny fist free. George felt his heart contract when that fist wrapped round his finger.

"Rose Elizabeth is really lovely. How'd you come up with that, George?" Ron asked, setting his now empty tray aside.

A look of pure mischief passed over George's face. "Well, I couldn't let you forget how this all started, now could I?"

"You named her after that dreadful cottage? Oh, George!" Hermione said, with a mix of horror and uncontrolled amusement. Ron just groaned and looked sorry he asked.

"Of course, that will be our secret, won't it Rosie?" George asked, nuzzling the baby's forehead. "When everyone else asks, I will tell them that she looked like a just blooming rose, all fresh and new."

Hermione harrumphed. "You'd better. Here, let me have her, I think she's getting hungry, maybe."

"Of course. I'll just give you some privacy, then, and join Luna." He handed Rose to her mum and stood up, stretching, and paused by the door. "Well done, y'know, Hermione."

"Thank you, George," she whispered, "for everything." He smiled, a big, full grin and then was gone, leaving the small family alone together for the first time.

Ron moved back to the bed, as Hermione opened her nursing bra and brought the baby to her breast again. He watched without comment as the baby latched on and nursed for a few minutes, before growing tired and falling asleep again.

"You are both so beautiful," he said quietly. "I'm so proud of you, darling."

"I still can't quite believe she's here, and she's real and alive and ours," Hermione whispered.

"She is, though," Ron said, snuggling up to his wife, resting his hand on Rose's back, feeling the rise and fall of her chest. "She's here, and this is just the beginning of so many things. All of those things we've dreamed of, and hoped for so long. It's all happening, Hermione."

Hermione turned her head to kiss Ron's lips softly, and felt her daughter snuggle further into her . "I do hope so."

-o0o-

_A/N: There it is, the end of this little story. Many thanks to those of you who stuck along for the ride. As I mentioned earlier, I began this story when I myself was having trouble conceiving in the years following my son's death. My daughter was born healthy and well at 39 weeks gestation in May 2012. Life since then has been filled with joy and tumult and frustration and love - much I expect for Hermione and Ron going forward. This has been a very healing piece to write, and I hope the readers enjoyed it as much as I have. Cheers, all._


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